tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190931862018-12-18T04:32:48.979-05:00MelissaKnitsSpiders make webs. Fish gotta swim and chickens lay eggs. Melissa? Oh. She knits.MelissaKnitshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05181100868057912442noreply@blogger.comBlogger517125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-22030879053506924402018-10-16T08:26:00.001-04:002018-10-16T08:33:59.873-04:00(my)PassionI think I was born hippie. Maybe it was the time (quite likely). Maybe it was the place (less likely).<br /><br />When we moved here I thought I "knew" so much about race and inequality - and I was so wrong. It's much worse than I thought, and so deeply in us. We are so isolated in the north and surrounded by unrelenting whiteness, and so those of us who don't consider ourselves racist can pretend it's a thing somewhere, but after all rational people aren't like that and MOST people aren't like that. Right? And the problems in our own schools and lower income communities are simply about density and no jobs or...something. Right? Then you get here and the blinders get all ripped off - and this isn't even the deep south - and suddenly you're like "WHO ARE THESE HUMANS AND WHO THINKS LIKE THAT?" Then you dig deeper and discover the deeply entrenched social justice issues that affect everything from voting rights to schools - all aimed at keeping a group down, and keeping people riled up against one another - and...it's such a tangled mess. I'm living in a state with voting districts that are shaped like snakes and octopi. I am living in a state that's probably about to enact voter ID laws that will further marginalize the have-nots, regardless of skin color. I live in a state where a man can smoke a bowl, get out of his truck, and get killed; standing while black. I am looking to move back to a state that is deeply racist and pretends it isn't, which is super easy when your towns are 99.3% WHITE.<br /><br />Then there's the planet. Poor thing. We get given this amazing gift and what do we do? Rape the ever loving crap out of it in a short-sighted gluttonous assault. We suddenly "need" meat three meals a day (not including snacks!) which is so destructive to the environment on so many levels from water use to land use for commodity feed crops that could be growing plant-based foods with 1/10th the water and land waste and we would be PERFECTLY HEALTHY - hell, we would be HEALTHIER!! But we continue to kill ourselves and the planet and the powers that be come up with new ways to compensate for those of us leaving the meat and dairy markets by touting Keto or Paleo as the new cure-all when the science clearly shows the exact opposite is true...the organism has subsisted on the planet for millennia with meat as a side dish, not a main course. And we are stuffing it with all this animal flesh and fat, while our cancer rates and heart disease rates continue to skyrocket. Sometimes in my more paranoid moments I think it's intentional - cut down on the population by killing 2/3 of us off with food. Last man standing, holding a carrot and a bunch of kale, wins.<br /><br />Then there's the animals and the small humans - and I go back in my child-mind to the picture of Jesus from Sunday School, all white and blue-eyed, with his long hair and beard, surrounded by a rainbow of small children and small animals, dove of peace seated on his shoulder. "Suffer the little children to come unto me..." and "Whatsoever you do to the least of my brethren..." and ok yeah He didn't mention animals, but really. I have never been able to put the cow on my plate completely into a context that makes sense, and that's even harder now, having watched all these things...could we raise animals for consumption without ethical quandaries? Maybe. But that's not what we do now. What we do now are things that any ethical person, witnessing in person, would want to report to someone - immediately - to make it stop. BUT WE EAT THAT SHIT. And kids - talk about an abused group. Kids and old people - the groups we all say we care about, but never put our money where our mouths are.<br /><br />And on it goes.<br /><br />Trying to find "a passion" in all of this is like trying to choose which of your children to throw off the life boat first. "But I love the people and I love the planet and I love the babies and I love the animals and I love the snakes and the bugs and the birds and all the things and..." what do I do with all that?<br /><br />Death and dying has been and continues to be very important to me, in the way birth is. The arrival and departure of a soul should be sacred; it should be an occasion marked not with solemnity, but with respect and awe. When we lose that we lose our humanity. Hell, we've lost our humanity.<br /><br />I am not perfect. I fall, fail, make mistakes - but I keep open and willing to learn and grow and change. And I am seeking truth endlessly. I find nuggets and store them away, but hoarding does me no good - the nuggets MUST be shared. They must be spoken, they must be set free.<br /><br />So what, then, is my passion, my calling, my "thing"? This has been a topic around here lately as we both wander through mid-life, coming to grips with the past, making sense of it, and moving into the future.<br /><br />My kids, grown now, are still my passion - but in a different way. Now my focus needs to transition to their children. All I have learned, I can share with them. Make them all sugar free, flour free, and vegan, and get their parents breathing down my neck (insert evil laugh here). OK, maybe not - especially in a world where pizza and Pepsi are everywhere - but at least introduce them to the natural world in a way that creates awe and wonder and the reverence for all life that we lack - and if someday they chose to opt out of the animal-cruelty based food chain, then good for them. Teach them that all humans matter. Teach them that all animals matter. Teach them that THEY matter.<br /><br />Outside of that, I feel like I need to find a crusade that brings all of my passion into play. Advocacy, which is ironic because that seed was first planted by the shrink last year, but I have not been able to find the path to it yet. I need....a foundation of my own, with an endless budget - I shall save the whole world! I suppose I also probably need to make enough money to feed myself, damned capitalist system. But I would so rather just give myself away to the things that ignite me. Who needs a paycheck when I am talking about restoring sanity and humanity?<br /><br />For the time being, still lacking a clear direction, I want to get certified in plant-based nutrition (for which I require that green evil we all so depend on in the modern world). In my perfect world I would go back to school near-full-time, gain degrees in nursing, social justice, nutrition, education? I am not sure what best suits the rambling, incoherent path I seem to be on. Actually it isn't incoherent. I mean, at the core of all the things I am passionate about lies the same thing.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LrtMvWn3DKg/W8XY1YI4ZxI/AAAAAAAAWmA/DpdVFGKX2lge-h7ns1Z41JYoKtHHGmHWQCLcBGAs/s1600/Nasa_blue_marble.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1561" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LrtMvWn3DKg/W8XY1YI4ZxI/AAAAAAAAWmA/DpdVFGKX2lge-h7ns1Z41JYoKtHHGmHWQCLcBGAs/s320/Nasa_blue_marble.jpg" width="312" /></a></div>Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-28377748885662065432018-10-15T09:08:00.004-04:002018-10-15T09:08:59.753-04:00And an Update for Jacinda<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zphBtbGpvLo/W8SI7_ArTqI/AAAAAAAAWlQ/i6qrVsyGXEAH1X-X7juhgheWuH4qcsvDwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_9152.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zphBtbGpvLo/W8SI7_ArTqI/AAAAAAAAWlQ/i6qrVsyGXEAH1X-X7juhgheWuH4qcsvDwCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_9152.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Hi! We are well! This weekend we went to a Charlotte VegFest, which must be done again the next time one is near me, or maybe I will just get one up of my own, and a town called Gold Hill where it rained so much that we gave up and went to the mall, where we bought discounted organic tea from the clearance section of HomeGoods. Nothing cures dampness like retail.<br />At <a href="https://veganclt.com/charlotte-vegfest/">Charlotte VegFest</a> we found:<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gxmce82a70Q/W8SI5XCvIEI/AAAAAAAAWlk/DBvtoaclEBoBZG3xoaO5NWymjVC6BkusgCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_9138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gxmce82a70Q/W8SI5XCvIEI/AAAAAAAAWlk/DBvtoaclEBoBZG3xoaO5NWymjVC6BkusgCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_9138.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><a href="https://www.farmersfirstcoffee.com/">Farmer's First Coffee Company</a> - they aren't "just" fair trade. The coffee in this bag was grown by this farmer. He gets paid about 4x what conventional growers are paid, which allows him to pay his workers, provide healthcare for them and his own family, and send his daughter to university. If I could drink coffee like this every day, I would be very happy.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4Eugceq7H_Q/W8SI5ibz1TI/AAAAAAAAWlg/nAzQWKHM7ygleWO47xk7Ec1L-R9oIBhIQCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_9139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4Eugceq7H_Q/W8SI5ibz1TI/AAAAAAAAWlg/nAzQWKHM7ygleWO47xk7Ec1L-R9oIBhIQCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_9139.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><a href="https://www.hempeplantprotein.com/">Hempe</a>, which is tempeh made with garbanzos and hemp seeds. It was being sampled in a mock chicken salad. We came away with three boxes and a free cookbook. I have seen this at Whole Foods, but like tempeh it is a little out of the price range for proteins here. But as a splurge item, something different now and then, it can stay on the menu.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JrtcpYQ5Flg/W8SI4H5EpBI/AAAAAAAAWlg/eVl-C0rTbCQUJf-Y3qtY3zkFJChbxg7TQCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_9125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JrtcpYQ5Flg/W8SI4H5EpBI/AAAAAAAAWlg/eVl-C0rTbCQUJf-Y3qtY3zkFJChbxg7TQCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_9125.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Dr. T. Colin Campbell - author of <a href="https://nutritionstudies.org/the-china-study/">The China Study</a>, father of Dr. Thomas Campbell MD, who is proving to be well worth his salt in the areas of nutrition and lifestyle, and my hero in many ways. At a time when the political machine was gathering steam to shove us all further and further along the path to increased animal protein consumption, this man stood with the science, and paid professionally for it I am sure. But truth is truth, and while many may run, hide, or play politics, this man has stood firm on the facts - animal products are bad for us and the earth.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dMh-YqvC2Iw/W8SI3TXVT6I/AAAAAAAAWls/HwfYvAAhhdEbrM6R53MsOiNhbtKUHoboACEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_9117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dMh-YqvC2Iw/W8SI3TXVT6I/AAAAAAAAWls/HwfYvAAhhdEbrM6R53MsOiNhbtKUHoboACEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_9117.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7OngGNB7tNk/W8SI3UCU_rI/AAAAAAAAWlo/ICrrpP97QpUy4RktJNdMG-8l9xrfbfi_wCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_9116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7OngGNB7tNk/W8SI3UCU_rI/AAAAAAAAWlo/ICrrpP97QpUy4RktJNdMG-8l9xrfbfi_wCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_9116.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Read some signage at this booth, I am not sure who's it was, but I am always game for a little buddhist thought inserted into my day. One of the reasons why it is harder and harder for me to identify as Christian is because there seems to be no built in awareness that hurting things and trashing the planet goes against the teachings of Christ, which to me seems to fundamental to the whole thing. I am discovering more and more teachers over the generations who have shared this conclusion with me. Unfortunately, they are all mostly dead. Say you are vegan or don't eat meat to the average person on the street who identifies as Christian, and you get some push back. Dare I say a lot of push back. Also hazing. And a lot of snark. SO very Christian. Jesus loves a good bully.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R6L4TpSZqLg/W8SI49MbWcI/AAAAAAAAWlo/ciokzr-wqCYoTZpO0gxtvC7RKr9bTvkMwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_9136.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R6L4TpSZqLg/W8SI49MbWcI/AAAAAAAAWlo/ciokzr-wqCYoTZpO0gxtvC7RKr9bTvkMwCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_9136.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Found out about this potential place - <a href="https://secure.qgiv.com/event/brotherwolfanimalsanctuary">Brother Wolf Animal Sanctuary</a> near Asheville, which will be some 80+ acres of space dedicated to healing and homing animals and - at least for short visits - humans. I like to imagine a world in which we don't need a place like this.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xc9vHKl0YhY/W8SI6QgwBoI/AAAAAAAAWlg/MTtNTC15epAXG6UfJJp3LAkO56m2_wwEgCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_9142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xc9vHKl0YhY/W8SI6QgwBoI/AAAAAAAAWlg/MTtNTC15epAXG6UfJJp3LAkO56m2_wwEgCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_9142.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Decals from <a href="http://www.goodsandevil.com/">Goods and Evil</a>, and also a t-shirt. Decals remaining are for my car. My new/used car which replaces the one I totaled in August - and, because it is used, it gets stickered all to hell. Like my laptops have been for the last decade.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xQhZtS3jKqM/W8SI7WvD3rI/AAAAAAAAWlk/N_6NmJcV8T8AowncGk8Zl0Fpfr2daETZACEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_9144.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xQhZtS3jKqM/W8SI7WvD3rI/AAAAAAAAWlk/N_6NmJcV8T8AowncGk8Zl0Fpfr2daETZACEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_9144.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>&nbsp;Namaste. And I thought you would particularly enjoy the bee one.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sAbbkxm-VCs/W8SI7FLpaZI/AAAAAAAAWlg/M27zG1k5ttQ1POvd13SaWpf2FzItNaBwgCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_9143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sAbbkxm-VCs/W8SI7FLpaZI/AAAAAAAAWlg/M27zG1k5ttQ1POvd13SaWpf2FzItNaBwgCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_9143.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>See. My mother would be so annoyed by these. But they please me immensely.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P0Fop4lWBVo/W8SI6HRpJTI/AAAAAAAAWlw/AR3wPI98QIg1A-hiJFg1rbteU7Q4hc5twCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_9140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P0Fop4lWBVo/W8SI6HRpJTI/AAAAAAAAWlw/AR3wPI98QIg1A-hiJFg1rbteU7Q4hc5twCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_9140.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>I started making <a href="https://www.pussyhatproject.com/">Pussyhats</a> - late to the party, but then I haven't had the freedom to contemplate getting to a march so it wasn't like I needed them. I am making two. One for me and one for whoever comes along - could be Gene, could be you. I understand from MaryAlice that there are lots of marches and etc in the county...there are fewer here, and rarer. More in Charlotte, and always seeming to coincide with work.<br />And this is Gold Hill, NC. We had already visited <a href="http://www.nchistoricsites.org/reed/reed.htm">Reed's Gold Mine</a>, which is the site of the first documented gold find in the United States. But this place had popped up as part of the <a href="https://www.carolinathreadtrailmap.org/trails/trail/gold-hill-rail-trail">NC Thread Trail system</a>, so we wandered out - it is a short 2.2 miles, flat, along an old rail bed. Unfortunately it was 1.) Sunday - everything is closed, all the cars at the church and 2.) it was raining and I had no hat and 3.) and this was really the corker for me I think, there were a lot of gunshots. I heard a shotgun clearly, and a smaller gun in the opposite direction. All were repeated firings, but not like a shooting range. Could have been someone plinking or shooting in their own yard, or could have been someone hunting in the area. It's just not something we think about, we silly northerners, where hunting is not allowed on Sunday in many areas (like MA). &nbsp;So instead we looked at locked buildings and wandered into the ones that don't have doors.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4gGgmmy9KWk/W8SI7nLHwiI/AAAAAAAAWlk/QaCz66brZe07OyoRWIwyxoBhthGya53jgCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_9145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4gGgmmy9KWk/W8SI7nLHwiI/AAAAAAAAWlk/QaCz66brZe07OyoRWIwyxoBhthGya53jgCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_9145.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ET-TqlWaC1U/W8SI8ZINKWI/AAAAAAAAWls/o2dSuJSBSmM-zdybg8-jkJIPh8AtQLJDACEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_9148.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ET-TqlWaC1U/W8SI8ZINKWI/AAAAAAAAWls/o2dSuJSBSmM-zdybg8-jkJIPh8AtQLJDACEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_9148.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cjxUCdIL-bo/W8SI9EwbpzI/AAAAAAAAWlw/CNBfnn1yn3YO7GqOoQe0TvYgaOWx5ZIYwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_9157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cjxUCdIL-bo/W8SI9EwbpzI/AAAAAAAAWlw/CNBfnn1yn3YO7GqOoQe0TvYgaOWx5ZIYwCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_9157.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Later we came home and ended up watching a stupid sports-ball thing until midnight. Something about Kansas and the Patriots. I don't care much about football, but I can be amused by a good game. And that was a good game. Yoshi, however, was not impressed. "Just PUT ME TO BED!"<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PkBPsxuWPRU/W8SI9CPWaXI/AAAAAAAAWl0/myLfrtAI4S4r7hVQQaNJSxAx9zNBq9CDwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_9172.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PkBPsxuWPRU/W8SI9CPWaXI/AAAAAAAAWl0/myLfrtAI4S4r7hVQQaNJSxAx9zNBq9CDwCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_9172.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>See you soon (no really). Also whatever you do, do NOT watch the movie <a href="http://www.nationearth.com/">Earthlings</a>. It will ruin your dinner. But do watch <a href="https://veganmovie.org/">Vegan Everyday Stories</a> which features, among other things, an 8 year old vegan activist. Reminded me of small Talitha saying she wasn't eating meat. Wise child.Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-23355077839142454312018-10-15T08:27:00.000-04:002018-10-15T08:27:32.003-04:00(self)CompassionAll roads lead to where you are meant to be.<br /><br />Martyrdom serves neither the martyr nor the community, most especially in the form we have come to know it. Once in a while a prophet comes along who's example shines a light on the path, but by and large the average attempt at martyrdom falls remarkably flat. All that sacrifice and self-flagellation... and nothing to show for it in the end except a wounded soul.<br /><br />Self-compassion is a key element of Bright Line Eating (which is going really well, by the way). We will all at some point stray from the path of dietary perfection - this weekend for example surrounded by samples of assorted vegan things, we both succumbed to "tasting" - very verboten. The key to success is not allowing that moment of less than optimal choice to dominate and overrule your desire for health and well-being. So when a Bright Line Eater falls off the wagon (so to speak) the trick is to get immediately back on - not the next day, not the next week, not on Monday, but IMMEDIATELY. The problem is that we (women a lot, and men too) will castigate, brow-beat, and generally terrorize ourselves with so much negative self-talk that we crumble and believe we are undeserving, we have failed, we cannot possibly succeed, we suck, we will be forever in a wrong-sized body, captive to our addictions and gluttony...so what to do but grab another Milky Way. BLE, when experienced with self-compassion at its core means that instead of all that you gently silence the negative self-talk, reach out with all you have, and give yourself a giant internal hug. I do this with visualization in which I see myself as a child who has made an honest mistake and feels genuinely bad for it. She does not get spanked. She gets hugged, encouraged, and loved to pieces, until we wipe our eyes and remember that we can choose better.<br /><br />Self-compassion really is also at the heart of many religions, although it is veiled in allegory (and even, in some cases, illustrated by symbols - no, I am not a <a href="http://www.themasonictrowel.com/masonic_talk/stb/stbs/49-09.htm">Mason</a>, but I have studied with one). This means that the heart of the religion or system of belief is wrapped in - and occasionally, I would argue, obscured by - stories with political and moral nuggets buried within them. And often, I would also argue, in Christianity which is the predominate religion of the west and the one with which most of us are most familiar, we miss the actual meaning of the tale by refusing to apply cultural relativity to the words in the book. If I view the bible's teachings from a 2018 western perspective and without learning the original meaning and intent of the words, I will surely fail to understand the moral of the story. Context is everything. I am sure this happens in most religions, but I am very certain that it happens with the Christian bible - read<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BL3JXYE/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&amp;btkr=1"> this book </a>for a bare surface scratching on this issue.<br /><br />Although Christian systems offer up Jesus as the literal lamb of sacrifice, the idea of self-compassion lies buried in there as well. If I can't forgive myself, then all the forgiving God does is without real effect in my life. God can let me off the hook, but I can keep myself there!<br /><br />But this is not what I wanted to say today. I wander so easily. I blame middle age - oh wait! No! I embrace myself for my meanderings!<br /><br />Self-compassion requires self-awareness first, I believe, for how can I forgive myself and love myself and embrace myself if I have no idea what it is that brings me back, time and again, to the same failings? And denial can be so strong as to overwhelm the discovery of truth. Self-compassion must be a process.<br /><br />This means - I forgive myself for killing hundreds of chickens. I forgive myself for keeping laying hens. I forgive myself for myriad other things I have done to animals over my lifespan. I do this regardless of whether or not I possessed the right knowledge at the time to make better choices. Regardless of whether I knew, in the moment, right from wrong. Sometimes I did. Sometimes I did not. But I forgive myself. Now I can embrace myself, cry a little or a lot, and move forward with renewed commitment and an open mind - learning more as I go, working on the spots where I stumble, being open to knowledge and change.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-52789269158220338682018-10-14T07:17:00.000-04:002018-10-14T07:36:02.491-04:00(com)PassionI find the development and evolution of self to be endlessly compelling. What I have often lacked in spite of a fair dose of self-awareness is the development of true self-compassion. I like to keep myself on the coals, so to speak; to hold myself accountable for both the things I have done and the things I could have prevented, and sometimes even things that have absolutely nothing to do with me, but if I can get a creative enough angle, I can MAKE them about me. Once hung and pilloried, with the blood of martyrdom coursing down my face, I internalize my shame and keep myself humiliated; bad, wrong, failed. I am, after all, a Horrible Human Being.<br /><br />Or am I?<br /><br />In most (dare I say all?) religion there is an element of compensation for "sin". In Christianity in particular those sins are hung on Jesus, who takes the abuse for us and thereby allows us to live free and clear, coming forth "white as snow" or "sinless". Go, and sin no more. Some have taken this idea to it's extreme - "If Christ is in me, I cannot sin. Therefore what I do, I do without shame." This same philosophy seems to infect the minds of radical Muslims flying into certain buildings, or kidnapping and raping into subjugation young women, or blowing up perfectly nice villages. Oh wait. That was us...<br /><br />But I digress.<br /><br />The primary piece if information that I believe we are supposed to glean from religion or a spiritual path is really more about self-compassion. Learning to see our failings, fallings, "sins" (and those who have sinned against us); learning to accept our collective fragile humanity, and then - and this is the part where I think most of us miss the boat, let the boat go, shove the boat way, way far away - not in the sense of denial, but from the perspective of liberation - CHANGING. GROWING. LEARNING.<br /><br />This weekend we went to Charlotte VegFest, which was an amazing thing for me on a lot of fronts - certainly preaching to the choir, but there's always new songs to learn. We listened to a few speakers - most notably Dr. T. Colin Campbell (swoon) about whom I will speak in a later post. But for now I want to focus on the idea of compassion, expanding on it's presentation by <a href="http://www.plantbasednationusa.com/">Shabaka Amen</a>, who was the first speaker of the day, and who said something that stuck with me: "You cannot be passionate about animals until you are compassionate to yourself". This may not be an exact quote, but that isn't the point. The point is that unless we are able to be compassionate with ourselves - really nitty gritty down and dirty open and honest about what we are and how we could be better, we cannot be truly, deeply passionate - or compassionate - about "others" (animals, people, bugs, etc).<br /><br />That thread from that morning speech bled into the rest of my day. Ronnie Tsunami mentioned, in his talk, a few documentaries that I had not seen before (and here I thought I had them all covered!). Specifically he mentioned <a href="http://www.nationearth.com/">Earthlings</a>, which he said he got about ten minutes into before converting to veganism. After last night I know why. I don't recommend it unless you know yourself to be self-compassionate, because your complicity in what you see on the screen could have you needing therapy or possibly an inpatient stay. How bad is it? Well. It had me up for a couple of hours trying to figure out how to feed my carnivorous pets ethically. That bad.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />But again, I digress.<br /><br />Near the beginning of Earthlings the screen is alight with quotes, some known, some not. One that stuck with me was this:<br /><br />The Stages of Knowing:<br />1.) mockery<br />2.) violent opposition<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>3.) acceptance<br /><br />That's what I woke up with in my head today, questioning, ruminating. Where am I on that scale? Am I truly accepting? Am I externally compliant and internally mocking or opposing? Am I justifying the actions of myself and others, which I think might be in-between opposition and acceptance?<br /><br />In further research this morning, I came across the work of&nbsp;<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_G._Perry">William G. Perry</a>, an educational psychologist who developed a detailed theory (<a href="http://perrynetwork.org/?page_id=2">The Perry Scheme</a>) of intellectual and ethical development in college students, the framework fo which is a nine-step progression from dualist thinking ("right is right and wrong is wrong and that's that!") to relativist thinking ("right and wrong change with perspective and awareness") to commitment ("I believe this or that, but I am open to learning and changing as I go.")<br /><br />Further (extremely) simplified, those nine stages or progressions become something, from what I have read so far, like this:<br /><br />1.) The Garden of Eden:<br /><br />In this phase, we believe a thing is true because we have been told that it is true. This is your basic garden variety religious or cultural education and inculcation. At times there are dualities within the scaffolds of our assorted indoctrinations, but they are usually justified or explained away by some intellectual sleight of hand. Think: "Mommy, if God said don't kill, why are we at war?". The adults fabricate some rationale, vaguely aware that they are spewing bullshit, or perhaps truly believing the righteousness of the cause, depending on where they are in their own journey of self-awareness and development. Also in this category are such nuggets as "But Pastor said..." and "The government entity knows best." The corollary from Earthlings would be mockery. I now what I know, and what you know is wrong. Idiot.<br /><br />2.) Anything Goes<br /><br />This phase is where I think most of us get stuck. In this phase, we are deeply - maybe unconsciously - aware that there are no right answers, that right and wrong are entirely dependent on the perspective of the individual - but in order to conceal this little fact from ourselves we engage in denials and justifications for our thoughts and behaviors that range from deeply held religious beliefs to strong secular attachments to any bloody effing thing that keeps us from looking at the thing that makes us culpable, PLEASE DEAR GOD DON'T LET ME SEE. This I think brings us - this need to keep the self unaware and "innocent" of who/whatever's blood, to justify our actions - to the point of violent opposition. We are the most adept at denial, and will use whatever skills come to hand to indulge that denial.<br /><br />3.) Critical Thinking<br /><br />Or, you know, acceptance. If I objectively and without rancor to self or others evaluate the facts and the sources of those facts, then I am able to approach all new information with an open mind - a mind that seeks knowledge and awareness, a mind unafraid of change and unafraid of truth. The alternative is, of course, a mind that continues to be slapped shut and rejects all new information that might result in expansion of awareness and understanding.<br /><br /><b>You cannot progress to acceptance without self-compassion. &nbsp;If I am truly forgiven, if I am truly and deeply compassionate with myself, then the new information is not a threat. It is merely a window that lets more light into my world and clarifies my beliefs and awareness.</b><br /><br />Stay tuned...<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cZRLqqudODk/W8MmbPZFgOI/AAAAAAAAWkU/_GqZHMbhxdcIFVp7cOlb1TjjVTeKbPx7wCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_8973.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cZRLqqudODk/W8MmbPZFgOI/AAAAAAAAWkU/_GqZHMbhxdcIFVp7cOlb1TjjVTeKbPx7wCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_8973.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-59601936371037672052018-08-13T13:42:00.000-04:002018-08-13T17:12:51.013-04:00Saving Your Life<i>(*all lab results and personal information shared here has been with full permission of Mr. Wonderful)</i><br /><i><br /></i>Why are we posting this? Because we are not the only humans on the planet who are being given horribly mixed messages about food, lifestyle, activity and exercise, health and well-being. We're not the only people who have been sold a bill of goods around food "choices". We are not the only people told to just "eat everything in moderation and exercise more", and then felt the shame and disappointment when that doesn't work - AGAIN. We know that for us, this is working when nothing conventional thinking has offered us has - in fact even the fad things I have tried (Atkins! Zone!) have all been bullshit in the end. At it's core this is about truth and science and reality. For some of us, moderation isn't "enough". We need <a href="https://brightlineeating.com/book/">clear, bright lines</a> to guide us and keep us safe. We need the freedom of fewer choices in a world that bombards us with half truths and untruths all day long. We need to obsess and think about food LESS, not MORE. The choice of what's on the menu today is already made. Follow the plan. Learn and grow as you go. And never forget to love yourself enough to trust your gut.<br /><br />I had wanted to do this entry on Thursday last week, which represented the 60 day mark of the <a href="https://brightlineeating.com/book/">Bright Line Eating</a> program to which we committed in June after our drive back from Massachusetts. I had been up there for three weeks. Before I left there had been some intense conversations with Mr. Wonderful about food and lifestyle choices. See, when we first got together, Mr. Wonderful was a single dad manorexic looking guy who drank screwdrivers, smoked too much, and appeared to subsist entirely on chocolate marshmallow ice cream topped with bananas and maple syrup, and a steady stream of road cycling. He was muscled from riding, but his lifestyle choices were not really in line with a long range potential for good health. When I moved in with him in December 1991, I brought with me two kids, three meals a day, and snacks. We both smoked. I quit in 1993, he struggled more than I did with nicotine. I dreamed of being a vegetarian. I tried being a vegetarian. I gained 30 pounds. We rarely used convenience food, but the balance wasn't all that great - meat was a big part of the day, we didn't eat enough vegetable and fruit, and we ate a ton of bread products. Compared to the "average American household" we were doing well. Except that...we weren't.<br /><br />Meanwhile, my weight ranged on a kiddie coaster scale, and Mr. Wonderful steadily put weight on. He tried to quit smoking, which only added more pounds. Then he did quit smoking, finally, and that added even more. &nbsp;He rode aggressively and was disappointed that riding didn't have more control over his weight and health - after all isn't that the cure? "JUST EXERCISE MORE! EVERYTHING IN MODERATION!" Then we added alcohol back in. And...more pounds. I ranged from "chubby" to "one point from obesity on the BMI chart". He did the same. I joined the YMCA and learned to swim, and swam daily until I swam a mile on weekdays and two miles on Saturday and Sunday. My laps were neatly recorded in an excel spread sheet. My weight didn't change. He rode his bike when he could. My blood pressure, blood sugar, and cholesterol remained in check. His did not. Not even close. He found himself taking "old-man meds". This was depressing because it just didn't feel like HIM. We tried different things, different eating plans. I would make all his meals...but he is a grazer and would snack. I struggled with snacking myself. Neither of us was happy with our weight, and his blood pressure and blood sugar and cholesterol were alarmingly out of control even WITH medication. I saw myself becoming a widow before I was 60. I could see it coming, like a freight train with me tied to the tracks. In 2015, while living in Plymouth, I recommitted to being vegetarian. I told him I would no longer be cooking meat at home. This worked well, and I think we both had some benefits. We kept dairy in, however. We definitely ate better. We went to the health club 3-4 days a week. I walked every day, 3 miles a day, with the dogs. He joined us on weekends. But it still wasn't enough.<br /><br />When I moved to NC I had lost a bunch of weight, but whether that was a result of grief, super low thyroid, or vegetarianism I do not know; I suspect all three. Disappointingly, meat sneaked back in - it had made a re-appearance when the young woman we brought with us to help us get settled expressed her need for meat. For her, we said, for her...and began to eat it. Gene continued to snack. He is particularly fond of sugar - candy, starchy vegetables, popcorn, alcohol. I am particularly fond of sugar as well, but in a different form - cocoa powder, potatoes, and wine. It just was not a pretty picture. Having lost weight, I watched myself snack it all back on. After all, I said, work was stressful. I stress-ate. He hit a high of 196#. I was almost back up to 120# - I prefer to be under 110#. The lifestyle was out of control, and I knew that for me it was unsustainable. But what about him? He seemed depressed about the situation and seemed unable to see choices. He talked about genetics, and said this 'was just the way things were'.<br /><br />In the early spring of 2018 I bought into <a href="https://members.foodrevolution.org/">The Food Revolution Network's</a> annual summit. I remember we were in the car and listening to a free live session when the offer to purchase came on. I just bought it. I figured that we could listen when on road trips, and maybe he could find some nugget of hope, some alternative to the depressing idea of out-of-control genetics killing him slowly. Anything to get him away from statements like "I'll probably turn 65, retire, and die." He had reason to be depressed, and good reason to see a bleak future. In April of 2018 his lab work looked like a cardiac event waiting to happen. His weight was at an all time high. His blood sugar was 127+ in the mornings ON Metformin. His blood pressure was around 150/90 WITH two meds. His cholesterol had hit an all time high as well - total was 208, triglycerides 336 ON A STATIN. In short, he was not kidding when he said he might just turn 65, retire, and die. Something had to change.<br /><br />While I was in Massachusetts he ate no meat - as an experiment to see if he really missed it. The older he gets, the more ethical questions come up for him about eating animals. He isn't a cruel man, and sadly our meat comes with <a href="http://www.cowspiracy.com/">a dose </a>of <a href="http://www.takepart.com/foodinc/index.html">well-documented cruelty</a>. He didn't tell me this until we were on the way home, listening to more Food Revolution Network stuff. The various presenters talked about the dangers of processed foods, expressed documented concerns about meat, looked at food as medicine; food as the way to health. They described genetics as latent potentials, not die-cast futures. They gave back control to the individual by presenting peer-reviewed nutritional science. Not Pollan's "eat food, mostly plants" ideology which never felt 100% right to me because it really avoids the blatant environmental issues around meat - never mind the cruelty issue for a second - but a more honest "eat whole food, plant based, no meat, no dairy" concept. This sort of eating plan is also <a href="http://www.dresselstyn.com/site/">well documented</a> and <a href="https://nutritionstudies.org/the-china-study/">supported in peer-reviewed science</a>.<br /><br />And then they brought on Susan Pierce Thompson, PhD, creator of Bright Line Eating. As we drove along listening she synopsized her beliefs and her program. Processed foods - flours, sugars, alcohols - are, for many of us, addictive. Whole foods are what we were genetically designed to eat. Flour and sugar are the legal food equivalent of heroin and cocaine. When we stopped for a potty break we discussed what she was saying. It felt very true. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dBnniua6-oM">Yes, food is addictive</a>. We joke about it culturally, but it isn't a joke at all - the science bears it out. The brain has been compromised. Damaged by the drugs hiding in our food. And most of us have been eating it since we were born.<br /><br />"We could try it", I said. "I can get her book, and read it, and we can just...try it."<br /><br />"I have to do something. I'll try it." he said. And in that moment I saw what I had been waiting for - the spark of survival drive that just might be enough to change our future.<br /><br />Home we came, and I ordered the book. I read it and ordered a copy of The China Study. We discussed the plan. I wanted to make it whole food plant based, and if he really couldn't stand it, he could add in a piece of meat now and then. Three meals a day, portions weighed. Anything not on the list and not at the right time of day is "Not My Food", and therefore off limits. It isn't a choice any more. It's just the way it is. No snacking. No candy. No wine. No cocoa powder. The inner conversations are healthy. "I recognize that you want that, but it isn't yours. Why do you think that you want it? What is something else that would make you feel good that isn't food that's not yours?" Inner family work. Healing. Allowing our brains to recover from lifetimes of addictive foods - literally - and lifetimes of proteins unhealthy for humans to consume day in and day out, three meals a day. Learning food triggers. No blame, no shame, no guilt. Awareness, acceptance, and self-compassion. Being mindful of emotional or behavioral impulses to consume food that isn't "mine". Healing the gut, the heart, the mind. The whole thing.<br /><br />We began on June 11, 2018. Fresh start. I bought tons of vegetables. I cleared the house of things like honey and maple syrup and gluten free flours. We had a "last binge" and work up feeling...like shit. And we said good-bye to it all and stepped into a new normal.<br /><br />At first it was hard, and I was deeply grateful that I hadn't picked up any work hours. The shifts I work are usually 8am-8pm. I leave home at 7am (no later than 7:09 am to be precise) and get back anywhere between 8:30 and 11pm, depending on the day. Being home meant I was free to focus on weighing, planning, and learning what worked. At first eating all of the food the plan demands was difficult. We literally could not finish meals, especially at night. Eventually we have found things that work, and only sometimes are too full at supper now. I will share a typical day at the end of this post. I learned to bite, lick, and taste less (I do taste occasionally, I have peace with that, because I am the cook and I need things to be palatable for a fairly picky man). I had a horrible feeling of shame when I returned from grocery shopping one day and popped a grape into my mouth without thinking. I sat down and thought about this - was that <i>really</i> the end of the world? Was I going to allow that one slip to destroy me inside? Or was I going to give myself an internal hug, and talk about how to avoid a similar misstep in the future, with lots of love and self-compassion? I did the latter. And we moved forward.<br /><br />We talked about the hurdles. His afternoon habit of returning to the cafeteria at work for a snack and coffee was a hard one; so too the piles of food that seem to grow from the furniture in corporate offices. And the "leftovers" after meetings which he felt guilty about "wasting". I have worked a couple of days and felt myself mindlessly reaching for my Milky Way Midnight Mini "treat". I stop myself, redirect, and get a cup of tea or decaf instead.<br /><br />Thompson talks about imagining yourself "wearing bunny slippers" during the weight loss phase of her program - take it easy on yourself, worry about exercise later. Losing weight is hard. You release stored up toxins from fat cells into your body. You may be tired. You may experience cravings as the brain tries to get it's drugs back. So reduce your decisions. Don't add in an exercise regimen until it feels right. We had already established personal routines - I walk, he walks and plays table tennis - and we kept those up, with occasional skips if it just didn't feel right. Self-compassion again. No obsessing about anything.<br /><br />Last week he went to the doctor for a scheduled follow up. I knew he had lost weight, and I knew his blood pressure and blood sugar were down. I wasn't sure what the rest of his labs would show, and I was definitely not sure how his doctor would respond to this allegedly "restrictive" eating plan and lifestyle.<br /><br />I didn't need to be concerned. After the weigh-in showed a nearly 30lb weight loss, and the blood pressure check revealed a normal BP, the conversation went something like this:<br /><br />"Wow. I am amazed. What have you been doing?"<br /><br />"My wife and I are on this plan. She thinks the food is killing us. We eat basically vegan, three meals a day, no snacks."<br /><br />"Your wife is right. The food is killing us. But...I believe strongly in genetics, especially with cholesterol, so let's do some labs before we take you off all your meds."<br /><br />I was chomping at the bit, but anxious. What if the doctor was right about the genetics? Would that just throw him back into that defeatist, depressed mindset where he was left feeling out of control of his own life, his own destiny? Would he give up? Head to the snack bar? Run to the store for dead animal parts? I worried. Then the labs came.<br /><br />I WORRIED FOR NOTHING.<br />8/3/2018 labs show:<br />Total cholesterol - 145 (highest was 208, normal is under 200).<br />Triglycerides - 121 (highest was 336, normal is under 150).<br />Fasting blood glucose - 84 (highest was 134 while ON Metformin!! Normal is 65-99. He stopped taking Metformin in early July because his morning sugars were in the low 80's)<br /><br />Weight this morning (8/13) - 166.2 (highest was 196). Blood pressure yesterday morning off of one med but still on the second - 127/70. Not perfect...but we are getting there. Blood sugar, which he checks once a week or occasionally after a meal was 107. I think this will come down too, and most days it is down to the mid-80's.<br /><br />Me - well I've lost ten pounds. I feel really good. I love my food. My skin looks better, my sleep is better, and my tummy is very, very happy (I have IBS but... the symptoms are basically GONE). I don't feel deprived, and he says he doesn't either. I think twice in the last 60 days he's had beef cravings, and has had steak, measured portion of course. When we get closer to goal weight we will add back in things cautiously - for me that may be soon. He would say he misses popcorn. I mostly miss my cocoa powder. But...for me those foods are a slippery slope, gateway drug, danger, and my life is worth more than the fleeting pleasure. There's other things. Like, oh, living healthfully, having more energy, not destroying our bodies with food...all that.<br /><br />The plan is now easy and feels right. If a thing calls to me I just have a little internal chat about what is and is not my food. It isn't perfect, or always easy - but then when were we promised a simple and easy life?? I think we spend way too much time rewarding ourselves, or making excuses for bad choices. The truth is we don't "deserve" food. Hunger is not an emergency, and there are things in life WAY more important than appeasing some stomping internal child who wants wine, or a candy bar or a piece of meat. Like being alive to see my grandchildren grow. Like not having a slow, lingering horrible death from a preventable disease, but living long enough to get hit by a truck or something. Like that. As Thompson says, this lifestyle isn't "extreme". Extreme is having your limbs cut off or losing your sight to diabetes. Extreme is a health care system that will collapse at some point under the revenue burden of failed "treatments" for preventable diseases. That's extreme. Eating a giant salad for supper...that's fucking simple.<br /><br />I said I would share a typical day...I do a lot of prep when I have time, so the assembly of meals is much simpler now. We have a repertoire of things we like. We often mix and match proteins and vegetables from a core of liked flavor profiles. We weight nearly everything unless we are out, and then we read menus ahead and have a plan, or we bring food. I prepare the veg and protein separately. I find keeping them separate to be easier for me. This is an average day - I am not giving quantities, just know that we each consume the correct amount for our respective x and y chromosomes based on Bright Line Eating:<br /><br />Breakfast:<br /><br />Soy yogurt (made in our instant pot with <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Vegan-Non-Dairy-Yogurt-Starter-gal/dp/B079WV8YY7/ref=pd_sim_325_7?_encoding=UTF8&amp;pd_rd_i=B079WV8YY7&amp;pd_rd_r=MTAC5B1F9PXWNZ53FAJM&amp;pd_rd_w=Dep0f&amp;pd_rd_wg=Mvx0U&amp;psc=1&amp;refRID=MTAC5B1F9PXWNZ53FAJM">this starter</a> from Amazon)<br />Oatmeal prepared with soy milk<br />Fresh fruit, usually a combination of berries, stone fruits, and banana<br />Flax seed and walnuts, ground.<br />Generous sprinkle of cinnamon or my breakfast blend of cinnamon, cardamom, turmeric and ginger<br /><br />Lunch (really this is today's lunch for me!):<br /><br />Roasted cauliflower from last night<br />Hummus<br />Blueberries<br /><br />Dinner:<br /><br />Big (really, 8 ounces of salad is a lot!) mixed tossed salad.<br />Zoodles with homemade red cabbage and bell pepper pickle and Thai peanut sauce<br />Tofu<br /><br />There's always a bunch of vegetables prepped in the fridge, and usually two or three protein choices as well - tofu, tempeh (also made at home now), or bean salads with flavors that lean toward Mexican, Mediterranean, Thai, what have you. Sometimes the vegetables are cooked, sometimes they are raw. Fat is limited, more than Bright Line Eating recommends, based on <a href="http://www.dresselstyn.com/site/articles-studies/">Dr. Esselstyn's work</a> around heart disease and fat intake. We do consume some fat, however. After reading his work and looking at Gene's labs and knowing his history...I am not kidding, he was a cardiac event waiting to happen!! Our fats are tiny amount of walnuts, maybe a teaspoon of oil in a pan to keep the tofu from sticking, or a little avocado. No big amounts; nothing more than teaspoons. Breakfast occasionally is tofu and a baked potato or brown rice with fruit.<br /><br />Goodness, this has gotten long. I am SO very good at that. I will end with this...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;<span style="text-align: center;">This is Gene in December of 2017.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--UMknqSTeBw/W3G-L5UIciI/AAAAAAAAWhA/uvE_svUjDjsiOP62jHfd9qI31hWFla-jgCLcBGAs/s1600/gene%2BDec%2B17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--UMknqSTeBw/W3G-L5UIciI/AAAAAAAAWhA/uvE_svUjDjsiOP62jHfd9qI31hWFla-jgCLcBGAs/s320/gene%2BDec%2B17.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is Gene last Thursday night at Barcelona Burger, waiting for his bean burger and salad.<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--2chZelPtQM/W3G-L1p7J5I/AAAAAAAAWhE/ZWz-2lJ3W98HXqNiS2czVslffYQxnSJ-wCLcBGAs/s1600/gene%2Bnow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--2chZelPtQM/W3G-L1p7J5I/AAAAAAAAWhE/ZWz-2lJ3W98HXqNiS2czVslffYQxnSJ-wCLcBGAs/s320/gene%2Bnow.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />If I had any more feelings in my heart about these images, I would burst. I am proud, happy, relieved. Even if we get hit by a bus and never see old age...by God we tried our damndest to escape genetics and a faulty, flawed, disastrous, horrific food system. And so can you. <a href="https://brightlineeating.com/book/">The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.&nbsp;</a>&nbsp;You can be good to yourself. That doesn't need to involve food.The gratitude, it overwhelms me!Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-77576174745413782012018-08-07T09:06:00.001-04:002018-08-07T09:06:53.487-04:00And Still With No Solid PlanThis weekend I attended the <a href="https://www.inelda.org/">INELDA End of Life Doula</a> training class in Raleigh. When I signed up I did so because I just felt like it was a thing I needed to do, without a real firm grasp of why or how. I still don't have a firm grasp on the plan...and I am going to just let that be OK for now. I did come away with a deeper feeling of commitment to the dying - and I really hadn't thought that possible. Some people seemed to be walking away with an almost evangelical commitment to this work as a life's calling. I didn't get that spiritual high, but then I can be very pragmatic and skeptical. And, too, many of those expressing commitment with evangelical fervor have less experience in death and dying. For me, this isn't like a new revelation. It's more of a no-brainer. As Susan said "All roads led you here." Although I feel like the work of an End of Life doula is in the first place of extreme importance and in the second something I can easily see myself doing, I still have the many unanswered questions of a natural born skeptic. What about my nursing license? How does the insurance work if you have that license? How can I appropriately balance the "mandatory reporter" nurse side with the "doula: keeper of confessions" side? Which one takes precedence? And on and on and on.<br /><br />I am a nurse, both by profession in my current iteration and by "calling", for lack of a better word. I feel very strongly about death (and birth, as those who've known me a long time can attest). The excessive medicalization of the two greatest transitions in our existence on this sphere has disturbed me since I came to understand that they were taken from us by the (allegedly well-intentioned, but let's be real - today it's about the money) western medical model. The discovery that this thing had been taken away without any solid reasoning beyond convenience and profit bothered me. It seemed to me, growing up, that both birth and death were extremely natural processes that only quite rarely became complicated enough to require some kind of intervention - and yet we willingly handed them over with a quick brow swipe and a "thank God that's all out of MY hands!" Women drugged into pseudo contentment, feet high up in the air, blue-tinged babies dragged out of dope-lazy birth canals - or worse, women cut open like sides of beef when their labor didn't progress according to the narrow statistical "curve" model created by some sexist, meddling quack named Freidman...grandma dying "peacefully" medicated (or so we are assured by the staff who were probably in another room when it happened) in a nursing home bed while the kids and grandkids were at work and school.<br /><br />Gone the natural progression of our lives from birth to death, gone the sounds and smells of birth and death in our homes, gone the bedside sitting at both labors, gone the intimacy, the proximity, the depth of these most sacred of passages. Instead most of us continue to cling to the "shallow and complex" life afforded by that dubious miracle that is modern western medicine. Let someone else do it. It's too hard, too scary, too painful. Give me drugs, just get it over with. But research begins to show that our removal from these most basic nitty-gritty beginnings and endings (on both counts) is actually less healthy for us than the relative trauma of intimate participation. Some of us feel that in our bones, and know the trade off isn't worth the loss of intimacy, of selflessness, of the most painful and yet most beautiful expressions of love that occur in those spaces.<br /><br />The death of simple and deep. We are trading out the painful reality of human existence for this artificial alternative that allows us to remain "above all that", allows us to move forward lacking awareness (of self or of others), avoiding pain, running from reality. Abandoning the people who love us at the very moment when they most need us. Abandoning <i>ourselves</i>.<br /><br />I am idealistic. But at my core very, very simple. Why is there injustice? Because we have allowed ourselves to fall prey to propaganda spin, turning "us" against "them", produced by a bunch of white men in suits who have no interest in our awakening to the truth that there is no "them", there is only us, thereby lining their pockets with our blindness. Why is the food killing us? Because we got over-involved with some magic chemical voodoo to "fix" food, resulting in processed crap that destroys our bodies, with a huge shift in the macronutrient percentages we have successfully eaten for 50,000 years. Why is birth so hard? Because we allowed more magical modern voodoo to bring us these trojan horse gifts that transform the majority of births into a loss of feminine power and a destruction of immediate bonding with newborns. Why is death so scary and taboo? Because we gave grandma to the hospital or the nursing home to "protect" ourselves and our children, so now grandma doesn't die in the living room, cared for lovingly by her deeply exhausted family, thereby depriving us of the experience of the good death.<br /><br />Don't get me wrong. I am GRATEFUL for much of what we have. I am glad that, after 36-48 hours of protracted naturally initiated labor, there is an OR. I am grateful that there are places we can turn to when our loved one, dying at home, becomes terminally agitated in a way that we cannot control. I am less grateful for white men in suits and Monsanto, but that's another tale for another day. I am glad that WHEN THERE IS REAL NEED there is help at the ready.<br /><br />But the decisions about when and how to intervene...those are much more complicated. How is it that a patient can spend some number of <i>hundreds of days</i> in a hospital bed, have innumerable procedures performed on them, each time with no explanation to the family that the patient will not regain function, will not improve, will never speak, will never swallow...the only reason is a padded bottom line. Otherwise the compassionate thing, the morally right thing, would be to sit down with that family and tell them the truth - she/he has had a massive stroke/horrible heart attack/whatever it was that put you here. She/he will not have any sort of meaningful recovery. She/he will not speak again, will not be able to communicate, will continue to decline. There is nothing we can do, and the best hope we CAN offer you is hospice at home, or transfer to a long term care facility that can support you through her/his end of life process. Her/his <i>death</i>. It isn't a dirty word.<br /><br />I suppose the dirtying of the words birth and death goes back to that so very American puritanical prudery and skewed religiosity so particular to us here. Birth means someone got pregnant, and if someone got pregnant, someone probably had sex. And sex, like death, is a thing we both obsess over, desperately want, and despise at the same time. Death means someone is dying, and what if the Christians are right and he/she goes to hell, but what if nothing happens and it's all for nought (untrue - even if there is no heaven and no hell, there is still the NOW, and the NOW matters so very deeply because we are all so connected...but I digress), and how do I feel about the ending of life and so on and so on - again simultaneously obsessed with and fascinated by, yet terrified of and repulsed by. Plus there is decay and odor, and grandma might soil herself and someone might have to clean it up.<br /><br />There I go ranting again.<br /><br />My point here, today, is this - I still have no solid plan. I came away with a lot of good information. I feel like the independent "hanging a shingle" death doula track may not be right for my anti-social self. Most people seem very able to give elevator speeches and "reach out" to the community with death cafes and stuff - like <a href="http://lisatinkham.norwex.biz/en_US/customer/shop">Norwex</a> parties only for death education...how do you keep that from becoming self-promotion? I simultaneously like and am concerned about that idea of the death cafe. I am pretty sure half the people in the room can give the first names of their table mates. I only remember 3. Faces I remember, but not names. It was sort of like work, really. Are you dying? Yes? OK. You definitely have a name, and I will remember it, and use it. Are you the immediate support? Yes? Good. I will probably remember your name, and will use it after asking you if it's ok and confirming what your loved one prefers to be called. Are you an administrator? Yeah. I'll get back to you on that whole name thing later, maybe in a year or so. All this "networking" nonsense? Nobody networked 50,000 years ago and people still died and got born attended by invisible people mostly lost to history. As it should be. Handing out of business cards, "making connections"...really? Are we entrepreneurs selling ourselves, or are we servants called to care for the dying and their families? I lose it in there somewhere. I'm here to serve, not sell. But first I need to take the first step. Whatever that looks like. I just still have no plan.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-54277675530383886012018-07-17T08:55:00.002-04:002018-07-17T08:59:21.845-04:00It's NaturalI think I miss my father most when I wipe my ass. He was the only other human being I ever knew who would willingly and openly admit how hard it is to get it all. We would moan about this topic the way frustrated housewives bitch about muddy footprints. He came by this earthiness honestly. My paternal grandmother farted in front of me regularly, and when I got old enough to tell her to "say excuse me", she reprimanded me, saying that God put the air in and intended for it to come out - no apology necessary. I tried this at home. My mother was not nearly as accommodating of the almighty as GW was. "Hold it in" was her motto on most topics. It was never mine.<br /><br />I've always been fascinated by and drawn to the functioning of the human body and the human mind. Interruptions aside, I probably would have been a doctor of something. But life wins in the end, and who we are isn't about the degrees we hold, it's about the cumulative experience, how we allow it to teach us, how we open ourselves up to and meet the act of living. <br /><br /><a href="https://www.inelda.org/">INELDA End of Life Doula</a> training class is coming up, and in the initial pre-class work we are introduced to the idea of the End of Life Doula, the various activities an EOL doula may perform, the ways in which an EOL doula can facilitate conversations and communication between family members with the dying person. We were asked to think of the death of someone near to us and reflect on how that death was - what could have been different, what sort of conversations could and should have taken place, how the wishes of the dying person were accommodated. I think the biggest gap for me at Dad's end of life is in the idea of legacy. He wanted very much to talk about it, and we tried, but I lacked the language and the skills to give him an outlet for that. I regret this deeply. The instructor talks about having made an audio recording about 40 minutes in length where he asked his father things he had never dared or thought to ask before. It was some months before he could listen to this legacy journey, and when he did he found it immensely healing -it brought his father back to him in a real and powerful way. I wish I had done this. I have two or three short recordings, not conversations, but clips culled from my answering machine - my favorite being my final birthday message, left for me a mere 14 days before he died. It was that important to him - sleeping 18-20 hours a day, barely awake when he was awake, calling me to say happy birthday was a priority. I know that feeling - more intensely in the last couple of years when that greeting of a loved one has been thwarted by estrangement - but I digress.<br /><br />This class will open up new pathways into the end of life experience for me. I have no idea where it will lead. I intend to become certified, which will require a minimum of three willing volunteer families who allow me into their space at an unbelievably delicate and precious time. Navigating the challenge of having clinical nursing skills that MUST BE set aside will be new. Being present, active listening, facilitating communication, holding space - all of those things are the things that I so very desperately long to do with my patients now, and most of the time cannot because time ties my hands behind my back and Medicare holds me hostage to an iPad. (The irony of this apparent skill is that if you are not dying, I will rattle on, ignore your thoughts and feelings, and generally be the biggest personality in the room wherever possible. But if you are dying or birthing it becomes the one space where I am easily able to lay myself down. I wish I knew why. Anyway.) &nbsp;I look forward to that part of this work. I am looking forward to discovering new ways to give meaning to legacy, and hope I can be of value to someone who struggles with that. It will honor that man, who sat in that chair, pointed at me and said to his home hospice nurse "...she's goooood...." to which she replied "Yes, she is. She really needs to come work with us."<br /><br />How very right they were. And how very hard I resisted. But in my life the times at which I have felt the most present, the times at which I have felt the most comfortable and connected, I was either attending a birth or attending someone and their support system at end of life. You can run, and you can run faster, but in the end you cannot hide. What I am, I am. And what I am is a death professional. Whatever form that takes.<br /><br />(don't worry - soon we will talk about knitting or quilting or something, I promise!)Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-27595097991378584962018-06-22T10:33:00.004-04:002018-06-22T10:33:39.927-04:00Red Pill Blue PillThe last time I was here I was ranting about addiction, diet and brains. I will probably do more of that today. For Lorrie, who commented on my last post, there is a video at the bottom of this post that may help. I don't have a copy of the 2AAT book right by me at the moment, so don't remember what my exact directions were, but I believe this will help with twisted stitches questions.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kwQuygdGBh4/Wy0C8659K3I/AAAAAAAAWdg/iX4Hq6SwTpUMB8peJKkVe8UGZjCN60aGQCLcBGAs/s1600/fullsizeoutput_c52.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="640" height="232" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kwQuygdGBh4/Wy0C8659K3I/AAAAAAAAWdg/iX4Hq6SwTpUMB8peJKkVe8UGZjCN60aGQCLcBGAs/s320/fullsizeoutput_c52.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Now on to the ranting. For Jacinda I may throw in a picture or two, although of what I do not know. Maybe lilies and cats. Just bear with, please. I do have a point here. Or maybe I have no point and am just ranting aimlessly again - but after a decade of menopausal brain stoppage, maybe this is a thing I need to do. VENT.<br /><br />I have been eating "mostly vegetarian" for about three years which, combined with grief, resulted in a loss of about 12 pounds - not a lot, but remember I am 4'11". Recently I had re-gained some weight, and this upset me. Having been in what the author of Bright Line Eating calls a "right sized body" for the first time in three decades, I was displeased to see it changing back to the chubby-but-not-quite-obese body it had been in the middle bit of life. My body had disappeared from my daily thoughts - I didn't obsess, I didn't fuss and worry, I just WAS - and I was very displeased to lose that freedom. The gain began in response to work stress. Too much wine, too much chocolate, too many little cheats...and all the parts of my brain that demand the unhealthy woke right up and started jumping around like ranting, raging addicted toddlers.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Yi3fo4cOaqw/Wy0C823fe2I/AAAAAAAAWeE/2cK5woj8Zqg9RhucjpCowTasclDXsO9wgCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_7537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Yi3fo4cOaqw/Wy0C823fe2I/AAAAAAAAWeE/2cK5woj8Zqg9RhucjpCowTasclDXsO9wgCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_7537.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>(Chance bringing a plastic mouse to his clearly idiot humans who don't eat meat)</i></div>I was also increasingly concerned about Mr. Wonderful's various health/weight issues that seemed unresponsive to medication or exercise, and were really setting him (screw him - ME!!ME!! I DON'T LOOK GOOD IN BLACK, OK?!?) up for some unhappiness in the future. Enter <a href="https://brightlineeating.com/book/">Bright Line Eating</a>&nbsp;but with a whole foods plant based diet at it's base. To update, we have been officially doing BLE for 12 days. I have lost 3.8 lbs. He has lost 6.4 lbs (Men. How do they do that. Every. frigging. time). More - MOST - importantly, his blood sugar is so normal that his medication has been halved, and at some point will likely go away entirely. I will never say that BLE, or any "diet" or "lifestyle change" not in line with the standard western diet (which we are liberally exporting around the globe with disastrous results) is easy. But I will say it is do-able. It has been my experience that things worth attaining are not easy...so would we really expect health to be any different?<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uvFOk5Sbl0k/Wy0C7pS6lOI/AAAAAAAAWds/9_y7LWvoRAMkg-1kJ6PCKx5XQPajtiDRACEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_7319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uvFOk5Sbl0k/Wy0C7pS6lOI/AAAAAAAAWds/9_y7LWvoRAMkg-1kJ6PCKx5XQPajtiDRACEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_7319.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;<i>(<a href="http://www.hawkmountain.org/">Hawk Mountain</a> stop in PA on our way home - would dearly love to return to do more of their trails)</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>As a result of reading the BLE book, I picked up a copy of <a href="http://a.co/e3yitzM">The China Study</a>, which is Thomas Campbell II's book on nutrition and health. About a chapter in I was recoiling and gasping at the idea that cancer could be turned on and off in rats by modifying the amount of animal protein in their diets. It just tumbles down from there - cancer, obesity, heart disease, diabetes, autoimmune diseases...he confronts them all and with massive data (thousands of studies, not just his own, that clearly document a strong connection between animal protein in meat and dairy and negative outcomes on human health) proves just what our way of eating has done to us - and continues to do.<br /><br />His recommendation, and his lifestyle of choice, is plant based, whole foods - low fat, lower protein - and that protein from plants. He cites doctors&nbsp;<a href="http://www.dresselstyn.com/site/">Esselstyn</a>&nbsp;(well known cardiologist from The Cleveland Clinic who's groundbreaking studies in heart disease and diet SHOULD be explained to every cardiac patient on the planet) and <a href="https://www.ornish.com/">Ornish</a>&nbsp;(who allows much more dairy and egg whites, but still has amazing results), among others. They all come to the same conclusion. A plant based diet is preferred. Campbell is pretty specific, and his studies on those cancer rats indicates that keeping protein - plant based of course - to around 10% of our diet is ideal - this number is more in keeping with the diet of rural Chinese who, until we exported McDonald's and Starbucks and KFC all over their map, had remarkably low incidences of most of the disease that plague us here in the United States of Fast Food (God, Country, and Mickey D's!).<br /><br />So why don't we eat this way, or tell people to eat this way? Why do most doctors hand their patients disjointed and conflicting handouts while making vague statements like "You should think more about diet and exercise..." with no real statements about what they KNOW from science WORKS? The most commonly cited reason: "These diets are too extreme. They are too complicated and difficult. Most people won't succeed."<br /><br />Wow. Really? Because truth is hard to hear and takes work to follow, we should sugar (literally) coat it and prate about moderation? For my mother, moderation meant "I will, at dinner today, eat only a half a box of Mueller's angel hair pasta with a half a stick of butter and a half a jar of Ragu original and a little less shaker cheese, instead of the whole box, stick and jar." That totally worked. Not.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-68_Ce0ON0PQ/Wy0CVQd1mcI/AAAAAAAAWdA/xv1DtQzP11E-XEVSufzUsuxxcNrew8ehgCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_7296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-68_Ce0ON0PQ/Wy0CVQd1mcI/AAAAAAAAWdA/xv1DtQzP11E-XEVSufzUsuxxcNrew8ehgCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_7296.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>(Stairs - not always easy to climb but generally worth the effort to see the view)</i></div>What really got me yesterday was the connection, clearly made in multiple studies, that links consumption of cow's milk with a host of diseases that plague not just children but adults as well. Juvenile RA. Type 1 diabetes. Then on to a host of autoimmune problems that left me glad that I never really liked milk. I was the child who had to be harped at, and even then I would refuse to drink it. "Then you will have water!" Great, thank you. Pass the ice cubes. Pass all the plants. Maybe I can revere of control this Hashimoto nonsense, or maybe my Reynaud's will stop making winter painful. Or...maybe I can delay some other horror heading my way. Who knows. Just...plants, yes please!<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c2LnyLBPCaw/Wy0C8REG0bI/AAAAAAAAWd4/-ytgKDb8IeM25gQxg9gOqdk5cbdlCuzdgCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_7386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c2LnyLBPCaw/Wy0C8REG0bI/AAAAAAAAWd4/-ytgKDb8IeM25gQxg9gOqdk5cbdlCuzdgCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_7386.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>(It is 'yeller squash' season - and Thank Troy, my tummy and freezer are FULL!)</i></div>So yeah, choosing healthy is not always easy, especially in a world where toxic marketing is aimed at getting us to do the easy things in order to line a few pockets. And I can see how this way of life might be viewed as "extreme". And in a very short sighted way it may appear complicated. Know what's more complicated? More extreme than a diet that will save your life, reduce environmental damage, make it so there's enough for everyone? Heart attacks. Strokes. Insulin injections. Losing a leg. Losing your vision. Premature death from a disease easily prevented or reversed with diet. &nbsp;Per capita spending in the US on health care jumping from around $4800 in 2006 to over $10,000 in 2016. Five of the <a href="https://www.cdc.gov/nchs/fastats/deaths.htm">top ten causes of deaths in the US</a> attributed to lifestyle choices and preventable illness. That's extreme. That's complicated. Eating plants is a fucking cake walk by comparison.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Qm0BKd6u_3M/Wy0C73NSxnI/AAAAAAAAWd8/1_5GnfRzxTQH3ZmTWYd4DAzBuEILOomxwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_7382.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Qm0BKd6u_3M/Wy0C73NSxnI/AAAAAAAAWd8/1_5GnfRzxTQH3ZmTWYd4DAzBuEILOomxwCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_7382.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>(It is also magnolia season, which smells citrus and spice and everything nice)</i></div>Things come together in my life in weird perfect storm ways. I am also reading <a href="http://a.co/eMQCE26">The Master and His Emissary</a>, a book about how our brain is divided, what the two sides do (or what we sort of think we know about what the two sides do based on research), and how our current culture favors left brain thought, and how damaging this can be to us culturally and socially - and individually. All that left brain literality, all that reliance on reason - some of which is very good, for example when it comes to NOT running out for a chocolate bar or a run through a drive through for a burger and fries. But at the same time, the other side of our brain, the right, needs to be allowed expression. If not, why we might find ourselves hyper-protectively ripping kids from their mothers and putting them in detention centers while we prepare to ship the adults back to...oh wait...that happened. Oops.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fA2-jtgiFu4/Wy0C9SUCMwI/AAAAAAAAWeE/5RxWnXpXUFYAsPeBVmeJcWupg3-M_FCrQCEwYBhgL/s1600/fullsizeoutput_cde.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1561" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fA2-jtgiFu4/Wy0C9SUCMwI/AAAAAAAAWeE/5RxWnXpXUFYAsPeBVmeJcWupg3-M_FCrQCEwYBhgL/s320/fullsizeoutput_cde.jpeg" width="312" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>(Frankie strongly opposes the separating of families and incarceration of children under the current regime's "illegal alien" intolerance program)</i></div>All of this sounds extreme and depressing, right? The world is in turmoil, our president is a whack doodle surrounded by other whack doodles, we are eating ourselves into <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/WALL-E">WALL*E's</a> world (everyone in a scooter, bones melted, phones to faces, sucking down big gulps and throwing the trash to a hoard of specialized robots), we are inhumane, hyper protective, fearful, hiding behind the rule of law to cover our selfishness and on and on and on and on. DEAR GOD, WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!<br /><br />But...we are all gonna die anyway. Just think about this for a moment. And really, in the life of a universe - or even a planet - our time here is a fleck of dust. This too, shall pass. So then...what do we do? Cry? Hide? Run? Quit? Shop? Eat? Drink?<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ystvD5ATpf0/Wy0C72B2FXI/AAAAAAAAWdw/BGDP9PEhb9wwVSGoUATcC88gg7Pwy8J7ACEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_6237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ystvD5ATpf0/Wy0C72B2FXI/AAAAAAAAWdw/BGDP9PEhb9wwVSGoUATcC88gg7Pwy8J7ACEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_6237.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>(Or just go kayak, which I highly recommend.)</i></div>I propose a happier alternative. Tolstoy, in <i>The Kingdom of God is Within You,</i>&nbsp;expounds on what he sees as the three conceptions of life that drive man's actions. In the first, the individual is embraced - he calls this the animal view of life. In the second, one embraces society - this he calls the pagan view of life. In the third, the whole world is embraced, and he calls this the divine view of life. From this view, it's all about love, man. He goes into this in greater detail than I care to here, but at the crux lies this kernel - in the first two, the scope is limited and the outcomes protective of self or of the immediate family, then larger community, then state, then country and so on in varying degrees of commitment and with willingness to sacrifice part of one to save one closer to one's self. But in the third worldview - the divine - life is not defined by "my" self, "my" family, "my" community (and so on) but by the idea that there is one underlying eternal factor - Christians would say God, Muslims Allah and so forth. "The motor power of his life is love". Uncle Leo has very, very few kind words for churches, orthodox clergy etc. ("It is terrible to think what the churches do to men").<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N_4IflvAbns/Wy0C8pHE9fI/AAAAAAAAWd0/SXh11g55zPYZ-5hXX53HFovbp3qTmswEACEwYBhgL/s1600/fullsizeoutput_c2a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="556" data-original-width="586" height="303" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N_4IflvAbns/Wy0C8pHE9fI/AAAAAAAAWd0/SXh11g55zPYZ-5hXX53HFovbp3qTmswEACEwYBhgL/s320/fullsizeoutput_c2a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>(Dude has a point.)</i></div>This thinking aligns fairly neatly with thoughts expressed by Marcus Borg and others of emerging church thought. Borg speaks a great deal to the dichotomy facing Christianity in the modern world. We have, at the moment, two ways of seeing the Bible - the first is that the Bible is the literal word of God (you must believe in arks, virgin births, and the holding back of rivers, or you are damned!). In the second, the Bible is viewed in a historical and metaphorical manner. In the first, the literal understanding of the Bible, there is much to protect, much to insist, much to demand, much to feel shameful and guilty about. God is angry, and you better make sure you follow the rules or you are in deep shit. The core of the belief system is easily threatened, and must be protected at all costs. In the second...well, we are dust, and the Book - all the books - have some stuff in them that can help us to be better, nicer, kinder, gentler dust. There is nothing to defend, nothing to protect, nothing to war over. There is just a law of love, a global concern for humanity, for the planet, for everything. I feel like some notables may have mentioned this in their teachings...wait, what was that guy's name again? Oh yeah...JESUS (and others, but being reared Christian his teachings are the most well known to me).<br /><br />This takes me back to right and left brain, maybe just for a second. Left brain - right hand; that kind of thought really enjoys the literal interpretation of the Bible. It loves the structure and rigidity, it defends rigorously, it squashes opposition. Right brain - left hand; this kind of thinking sees meaning in metaphor, embraces the creative, questions the need to defend at the expense of others. In general we tend to view left brain as "masculine" and right brain as "feminine", which really does a disservice to the brain, especially in our male-dominated society which values the masculine above the feminine; it mocks men who embrace their "feminine side", pays men more than women for the same work, dismisses social injustice with a wave of the hand because those injustices feed and protect that which is important to the left brain, etc. Left brain says "You don't look like me, worship like me, eat like me, act like me. You are other and must be assimilated, or destroyed." I envision left brain in a well-cut dark colored suit with a red tie. Right brain - who I see wearing tie-dye and cut-off's, with a joint in one hand and a peace sign in the other - says "Look at all these amazing and different ways of being! The world is truly a magical and awesome place". We are, according to this author, shutting off the right brain gradually over time and with ever increasing success.<br /><br />I spent part of this morning looking at ways to increase right brain activity, which I think is a way to help in the process of healing what really is brain damage cause by food, environment, religion, etc. Here's a few ideas - because I think they are important and will make awareness and change easier to accomplish. Martha Beck <a href="https://marthabeck.com/2011/10/turn-on-your-right-brain/">has some ideas</a>, most of which arose from a bit of writer's block she experienced. She calls it The Kitchen Sink method, and it really works. I know because I have used it myself without realizing that's what I was doing at the time. This Australian lady at the Memory Foundation <a href="https://youtu.be/HiJTKzPSPo4">has a video</a> on ways to stimulate right brain. Actually they appear to have a couple. Livestrong <a href="https://www.livestrong.com/article/192141-how-to-improve-your-right-brain/">has a nice list</a> of right brain thinking activities. Meditation is a good start, really. Quieting the mind allows both sides more space. I sometimes visualize sunlight cascading down into the right side - NOT the left at first, and not evenly into the hemispheres...but into the right. Then it gets stopped up and cannot go further until the left side takes action (left brain likes action). The left must then open a series of locks, or floodgates, to allow the light to cascade into the left brain, and then down to my toes, gradually filling the body to the very top. But in the visualization, the left has to choose to allow communication with the right if it wants that sunlight - and it really wants it. I just want left brain to be active and participatory in encouraging connection between the hemispheres. I want it to have a choice.<br /><br />I did say I had some happy news, or a happier alternative or whatever. So here's my happy news. We do have choices under all these layers of conflicting information, societal pressure, advertising mind-fucks, crappy parenting, traumatic events and so forth. Once you know these things, you can choose, even if it is tiny infinitesimal steps in a direction other than trapped. It won't be without complication, it will not be simple, it will not be without backsliding, failure and pain - although clearly we're all in pain already or we wouldn't be expressing our discomfort in our societal behaviors.<br /><br />I choose to always keep looking for truth. I choose love. I choose health. I choose to think outside of myself. I choose to find ways to counter the negativity and fear we are endlessly fed. They may be small ways, but they are ways. I choose the red pill.<br /><br /><br />Oh, and Lorrie, here is your video. If this doesn't help, please comment below and I will try to get my hands on my own book. :)<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/sA54urjJWUM" width="480"></iframe><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-70748208265302890862018-06-08T11:25:00.000-04:002018-06-08T14:55:08.677-04:00BrainSo I have always been really interested in the human brain, how it works, what drives us, and how people who look "with it" on the surface can be so tormented by inner demons that they just...quit and cash out their chips way too early. I spent years watching my mother struggle with the very real demons of mental illness only to end up in a delusional space inside her own mind from which I could not rescue her. But it was her mind, not my own, and there just didn't seem to be a light bright enough to poke in. At some point she stopped looking for one.<br /><br />I am not sure where this is going so I am just going to ramble. I am very good at that. <br /><br />Anthony Bourdain killed himself today. Kate Spade the day before. Priscilla Morgan in 2011. Millions before, and millions more to come. I don't believe suicide is about a single choice. I used to think it was. I have always seen it as selfish and thoughtless. My mother reared me on The Hemlock Society and always had lots of information about how to end your life on hand. Her desire to control her death was terrifying for the developing little me; heartbreaking, devastating. I dedicated a fair amount of life energy toward trying to stop her. And yet, we know statistically that a certain percentage of mental illness is, frankly, fatal. It should not be so, and we should work to change that, but it is still a fact. The brain, as it turns out, is a treacherous thing. But it is also plastic, and with the right support and right path, it can heal and recover and blossom. Mental illness, addiction, self-destructive behaviors - whatever you want to label them - they do not need to be fatal.<br /><br />Yesterday I watched Robert Lustig <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?reload=9&amp;v=EKkUtrL6B18">speaking on his book '<i>The Hacking of the American Mind</i></a>'. It isn't just the American mind that has been hacked, but we Americans do seem to have cornered the market on denial and delusion and God knows we are spreading it around the globe as fast as we can. A few days before this I had come across <a href="https://brightlineeating.com/">Bright Line Eating</a> as a result of my engagement in <a href="https://foodrevolution.org/">The Food Revolution</a> summit earlier this year. My blood sugar is ok, my eating currently very clean (whole food, plant based, vegan) but there are pitfalls everywhere and I have fallen into a couple in the last few years (maple syrup, wine). Things come together sometimes. Perfect storms of information which, if you are open to it, can change your life or at least your view of life. Bright Line Eating is basically about addiction, and adopts a pretty hard stance on the substances that addict us. Lots of very good, convincing and clean science backs this all up. Moderation simply isn't an option. Anyone who's ever been really clean knows this. Zero tolerance. The minute you step over the line into moderation, all bets are off. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but you have let the snake out of the bag and I guarantee he will will coil up around you and tighten until your lights go out, or you find a way to cut him loose. I love snakes from a distance. But I want to cut mine loose.<br /><br />I am an addict. Drug of choice isn't relevant, since we now know that the function in the brain is the much the same, regardless of substance. The difference between drugs of choice is about legality, stigma, and money, not about what they ALL do to your brain. Hell, rats in studies have been addicted to levers. You heard me. METAL. LEVERS. The substance isn't the issue. But I digress.<br /><br />This addictive part of me is not an unknown for me personally, although sometimes surprises others. My parents were, in their own ways, addicts as well - with my father aware of and modulating his addictions (except maybe that one time when he ate that whole tub of bacon in my dining room), and my mother insisting that she was not an addict at all, but a victim of the health care industry that gave her valium and darvon, then ruthlessly took them away. It wasn't her fault - and based on brain chemistry and a traumatic upbringing, it really <i>wasn't</i> her fault. The idea of fault, like the concept of sin, tends to bring shame and guilt, which in turn paralyzes people into inaction. Resignation. "I must be a horrible person and therefore cannot change" instead of "I am a normal human being who strives to be my best self, fails at times, forgives myself, and tries again". But she would never admit that she was "like those people", to which I would often reply "those people... like the <i>human</i> ones? Like me?" She hated that I identified with addiction and referred to myself as an addict. I was, she insisted "better than that"; better than "those people".<br /><br />She struggled with food addiction for all of her life, as have I. She was addicted to opioids and benzos given by doctors, and if she were alive and walking today would probably be one of those great grandmas in the county with a (nicely dressed, well-spoken, clean-looking) dealer on lock. She had ways of obtaining codeine and benzos that blew my mind, because I knew her primary physician would not prescribe. She would, in middle and later life, never drink more than one beer, insisting that any more would make her "a drunk like (her) father". She would never accept any of this as addiction, or "dry drunk" control of a potential addiction. And she strongly recommended that I exert greater moral control over myself and "remember who (I was)". The problem is, I am not sure that she ever understood or knew who SHE was, let alone who I was. She never understood that addictive brain type isn't a choice (no kid lisps that they want to be a drunk when they grow up!), that brains are being fundamentally altered from our earliest days, that for a certain percentage of us "moderation" is simply a thing that cannot exist safely, that addiction isn't a moral flaw...and on and on and on. Most of us never gain the insight into the brain that comes with learning and awareness - not to mention the huge advances in science. But I've seen it without proof for a very long time, and am starting to see it now a growing body of proof - thanks to science, PET scans, and smart people who've put this shit together - all of whom I envy their damn PhD's. I was too busy reproducing to get mine.<br /><br />There have been glimmers and glimpses for me all of my life of truth. I have struggled with varying degrees of addiction to various things and substances for as long as I can remember - beginning, from my earliest memories - with food. Food is the first thing we have access to that fundamentally alters our brain chemistry and can set us up for a lifetime of addictive behavior. I was a formula baby. My mother made it herself with a variety of substances, including corn syrup. It's what they did. No one could have known then what the outcome would be. There were no PET scans. Maybe someone suspected...they must have been messing around with rats enough to know what sugar does to the behavior of animals. and could have predicted that it would affect human behavior as well. My first non-formula food was at 14 days old when I was fed orange juice. That was rapidly followed by beer in my bottle when I developed a UTI - it would make me pee, the doctor said - this is the same doctor that accidentally overdosed me on phenobarbital and belladonna for colic when I was an infant, so he probably knew best, right? After that came codeine cough syrup by the gallon to control a wicked asthmatic cough that kept the whole house up at night - ALL prescribed and legal and recommended by the experts. In the early 70's beer was everywhere and kids sipping half-empty cans at various gatherings was just a thing that happened. I am lucky I survived, really. Those addictions were not my choice but that doesn't change what they were - exposure to substances that poisoned my brain and established pathways and patterns that I will likely confront until I die. This is not hopelessness - it is honesty, and everything good and clear begins with honesty.<br /><br />I cannot remember at what point I became aware that my brain wanted things that were poison, but I do remember telling my mother in my early teens I was done with the codeine because I did not like how it made me feel - it had gotten to feel normal, and life without it was not. Something in my controlling little self rejected this idea of normalcy found only in a bottle of tiny white pills or cherry flavored syrup. In retrospect this experience likely saved my life or at least a lot of years of potential addictions to other drugs. I had a healthy respect for them - healthy enough to keep me off street drugs, with the exception of marijuana. She was terrified that I would cough myself to death, die in my sleep, not survive adolescence without it. Surprisingly I did survive - in retrospect the withdrawal must have been a fun ride, but I was too young to suffer much for long, thank God. Nicotine is a wonderful cough suppressant when you are smoking a pack a day. You hack up a lung in the morning, light a butt, and damned if your breathing doesn't come right into line...with a wheeze so tight you CAN'T cough. Then came Dexatrim...which one could obtain legally at the pharmacy on Main Street, and take to not only lose weight but stay awake for DAYS on end - always a benefit when you work during the day but all the fun happens at night. When my sister Jody pointed out that the stuff would kill me, I thought about that annoying banging heartbeat feeling, and quit - cold turkey, just like I had stopped the codeine. Oh to be young again - young and so very stupid. Weight loss is it's own addiction. So next up, free of opioids and amphetamine - but still sucking down nicotine - was a foray into anorexia (at my lightest I was around 70 lbs, and convinced I was fat). Beer came next, followed by wine and a brief trip into hard liquor. I didn't struggle as much with obvious sugar. I could not, for example, eat an entire pan of brownies like my friend Cheryl could, unless I was very stoned (did I mention pot?) or drunk. I occasionally found myself eating a half a batch of cookies, but I tended more toward pizza, or half-pound roast beef sandwiches loaded with Hellmann's. So next comes bulimia, of course. All the while subconsciously aware that something just was very very wrong in my brain. Something I couldn't prove, or pinpoint, or explain. I just knew that something wasn't...right.<br /><br />Next follows a few decades of being relatively clean and sober and truly happy, although still not fully understanding what my addictions were, or how they worked, or how my brain did crazy shit to get what it wanted - which ultimately was (is) sugar, no matter how well disguised. I now call this the "pizza and puking" years. In a very weak defense, pizza did make me feel horribly ill. It wasn't until about 13 years ago that I discovered that wheat is not my friend, and that gluten literally makes me sick. Now, 13 years off of it, and even a little can wreak havoc. Then there was Diet Coke...consumed by the gallon during college because it was cheaper than buying food - and I needed my food stamps to feed my kids...or I was just addicted to the stuff, one or the other - or both. I drank that until the left side of my face started to go numb and a concerned individual mentioned that perhaps aspartame was bad for humans. A little reading and a lot of withdrawal and my face only gets numb when I fall off the "artificial sweetener" wagon, usually by accident. READ YOUR LABELS!!<br /><br />And all the while words are popping up on my radar...hyper palatability. neurotoxins. dopamine. serotonin. conspiracy (that one is my favorite). compulsion. addiction. advertising. down regulation.<br /><br />I love how people insist they make their own choices, and that fat kids are just a result of parents with no will power and generally weak moral fiber. Neither of these things is true. People are deluded - and, frankly, drugged - into thinking they have free will, and fat kids (and adults) are a result of a carefully orchestrated marketing strategy to sell as much food to as many people as possible. And it is working really, really well.<br /><br />Lustig says - and given what he does as a life's work he would know - that we have an epidemic - AN EPIDEMIC - of obese 6-month olds. The rising cost of food related illness is skyrocketing ever upwards, and will decimate our economy very soon - well, really it already is. Lack of protection from lobby groups and marketers who seek to promote their products regardless of the harm inflicted on humanity continues as some sort of short-sighted egotistical American idea that we have CHOICES, after all, and just need SELF CONTROL and MORE EXERCISE to balance out that additional gut-load of calories in their poison crap - trust me, they just want you to buy their shit, and it making you feel bad about yourself sells more ice cream and fries, well, they just run to the bank that much faster. As any addict in recovery can tell you...it just isn't always that easy. Gene just showed me a reddit this morning of a group of morbidly obese kids dancing by a pool. Trust me, those kids did NOT choose to be that fat, and their parents are likely as confused as anyone. Misinformation abounds. Everything in moderation, after all. Just exercise it off (<a href="https://www.npr.org/sections/thesalt/2014/10/16/356437295/should-menus-list-miles-to-walk-to-burn-off-your-meal-or-soda">do you know how long it takes to exercise off a 20 ounce Coke</a>?). McDonald's is OK as long as you don't eat there daily. Whatever. If that's you, and you can walk away after half a sleeve of fries, great, and I am truly very happy for you. You won the genetic lottery, my friend. But for 30-50-% of us - and that number is climbing every day - there just is no safe way to consume that shit. And "that shit" includes crap like the boxes of "weight control" oatmeal I saw yesterday that contain SIXTY CALORIES MORE than plain oatmeal. And the processed food, and the frozen food, and the fast food...and on and on and on. If it's fast, convenient, easy, or processed....probably bad. I would rant about meat, but <a href="https://nutritionstudies.org/the-china-study/">I will let others do that</a>.<br /><br />There used to be this thing called science, and we used to believe in it. At this point, all the endless Boy Who Cried Wolf shouting has left many of us confused, bewildered, and quite hopeless, not knowing who or what to believe.<br /><br />I don't like hopelessness. Hopelessness kills people, or gives them space to kill themselves. It doesn't fit my personality - like the skinny people who can skip the fries. I am very grateful for that part of me - the bit that keeps getting back up again, over and over, always willing to try. So I reject hopelessness. But I am also aware that my brain is hurting and damaged; I've let it get poisoned, and that choices that will bring it back aren't going to be easy to make. I have been meditating for 4 months now (180 days straight as of today, not counting the couple of start-and-stop months before that) which is a really good start. Things seem to be clearing up in there. The sugar that has gradually crept back into my life as comfort in grief needs to go - and it even has an end date now. Some of that is wine, some of it is food, all of it is nothing but refined, brain-damaging poison.<br /><br />My plan for myself is to use <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Bright-Line-Eating-Science-Living/dp/1401952534/ref=tmm_hrd_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&amp;qid=&amp;sr=">Bright Line Eating</a> from the book, and not the <a href="https://brightlineeating.com/what-is-ble/">boot camp</a> because right now I just plain cannot afford it. I am not obese. But I am an addict who needs to get clean - even if the drugs of choice are "only" sugar and Facebook. Bright lines seems like a really good place to start. Really, really bright ones. Lines that I simply cannot cross. One day at a time.<br /><br />This started with a short riff about suicide. See, I think it's all connected; addiction, mental illnesses, suicidal thoughts, depression - all of it is connected up there with all those neurotransmitters and neural pathways. That brain...it's a complex and at the same time simple thing. Our enemy is within. I think we need to know that enemy, look it squarely and honestly in it's face, and find a way to talk it down. I don't know how, and I suspect the path is different for us all. I just know that if you are struggling...keep looking for answers, keep reaching out, keep finding paths to survive. Survive until you thrive. Hope lives. It's real, and happiness is not a myth. Pleasure is a lie. But happiness is real. Go find some.<br /><br /><br />Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-2048995196600134002018-03-21T10:23:00.002-04:002018-03-21T10:23:38.876-04:00Never Make PlansI had this great plan to come in here on this day and write some ...thing. I don't even know what, exactly, just some ..thing. But now it's today and I only have one thing, one tale, one story. And so I will tell it.<br /><br />The first day of spring was March 21 that year. I didn't actually know this that morning when I got out of bed at 5:30 or 6, after announcing that I was in labor. I was to learn it in the form of a card of congratulations that came much later in the day. My labor was, at first, not to be believed by most, and in retrospect I can't really blame the people involved...they had reason to assume otherwise.<br /><br />This was nothing like the first time. The first time the intensity of "real" contractions had taken me by surprise in spite of my endless readings of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Spiritual-Midwifery-Ina-May-Gaskin/dp/1570671044/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&amp;qid=1521641321&amp;sr=8-1&amp;keywords=spiritual+midwifery+by+ina+may+gaskin">Spiritual Midwifery</a> and <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Childbirth-without-fear-original-childbirth/dp/0060110341/ref=sr_1_6?s=books&amp;ie=UTF8&amp;qid=1521641348&amp;sr=1-6&amp;keywords=childbirth+without+fear">Childbirth Without Fear</a>, my relentless breathing practice and my harping to those around me that birth was PERFECTLY NATURAL and women had been doing it for THOUSANDS OF YEARS. I had become very emotional very quickly, right down to calling my mother to sob "...it hurts!" into her ear at 2am...she was the person on duty at the answering service that early morning, and although I wanted to be big and brave and know-it-all, I knew nothing, and I sobbed that into the phone. But I learned. And for some reason the second time around everything fell into place. It's not that it didn't hurt. I think it did. But it was manageable. Just relax, breathe; everything has an end point. You will not be in labor forever. This is the last time you will have that contraction. It will not come again. Be in it, then let it go. Metaphor for life, really.<br /><br />Making my way downstairs quietly so as not to wake the sleeping toddler in the next room, I began my day as I always did. I started laundry. I considered that I could be away for a day at least, and so began making a quiche which could serve as breakfast, lunch and dinner for the people I was leaving on their own. I called my sister. I called my mother. I called my midwife. To all of them I calmly related that I was in labor and that my contractions were about 3 minutes apart. I am not sure any of them believed, but they mobilized anyway.<br /><br />It was amazing, that labor. This, I knew, was what it was meant to be. Alone and peaceful, folding laundry and grating cheese between contractions, rolling out pastry...taking a small (and later regrettable) bite of bacon, sipping some water; I was like some other-worldly earth mother. Peaceful and graceful, I walked from room to room, taking one contraction at a time, enjoying the solitude with this little person inside me, knowing that this was to be our last few hours as one entity. A boy, they had said, based on heart rate. Most likely a boy. I wanted a girl. But a boy would save a fortune on clothes. And I had a name either way. It no longer mattered to me what you were. The who, on the other hand, was crucial. And that I wanted very much to learn.<br /><br />It had not been a picture perfect pregnancy. We had moved early on, and I had done my usual moving in "thing" - attacked the house and the boxes and the appliances with bleach and vigor. I had moved the fridge, mopped the whole house, put the fridge back, and unpacked any number of boxes. Somewhere between the fridge and the hardwood floors I felt a twinge, and then another. Suddenly it dawned on me that pregnancy isn't a guarantee, and I became terrified for the little life inside me. A visit to the midwife showed that I had reason to be - I was 2 cm dilated and partially effaced. Bedrest. With a toddler.<br /><br />I've never been good at sitting still. I think I lasted three days. I began to move cautiously - no heavy lifting, no pushing of appliances. I sat in Daniel's high chair to prepare meals at the kitchen counter. Not a lot of heavy cleaning got done. I carried grocery bags one at a time instead of losing myself up like a pack mule. The baby stuck with me; forgiveness offered for my ingratitude and heavy lifting. And I became a territorial, primal monster on the inside. When my grandmother "helpfully" and callously remarked that miscarriage was nature's way of fixing a mistake, I almost killed her. I am sure we did not speak for some time. And for the record, she doted on the eventual baby with greater zeal than I usually witnessed in her, so I sense she spoke with forked tongue - but then she's an Avery and they have that habit. Cruel to be kind was generally the order of their day. But not in my world, not on that topic. No. Not that baby. The mistake wasn't the baby. The mistake was the obsessive mother scrubbing a house from top to bottom in the first trimester. Why should the kid pay?<br /><br />So here we were, all those threats of danger, and exactly one day before the calculated due date, right on schedule and with no more fuss than a walk to the park that baby was about to appear.<br /><br />I remember the moment things changed in labor and my contractions moved to a minute or so apart. I would have been more than happy to stay right where I was, have the baby, get back to the quiche with it tied to my chest like the good primal animal I was. But midwives at home are not covered by insurance, and midwives in the hospital are. So we went.<br /><br />I had no contractions from home to the hospital, about a 5 minute drive. On arrival, a gust of ice-cold -15F air rushed up to meet me when I opened the car door, rectifying that situation in a hurry. That was a "bad one", and I walked into the hospital more acutely aware than ever that I despise the cold.<br /><br />Back then the hospital was in disarray for renovation, and the entrance door for all patients had changed to the ER side of the building. Not knowing where to go I signed in as directed and joined a host of others waiting for admission for various things - the ER, surgery, labs and radiology all in one giant space with temporary cubicles set up. Pre-HIPPA, you just wrote your name on a sheet of paper and waited to be called. Not the best triage system. People around me suggested that I tell "them" I was in labor...but "they" were busy and I didn't want to "make a fuss". Finally a woman near us walked up and said, pointing, "She's in labor...and her contractions are almost a minute apart. You should take her ahead of us." My name was taken, a call was made "upstairs", and a nurse in pink scrubs pushing a wheelchair appeared as if by magic. She introduced herself and asked me to get in the chair. I declined. No. No wheels. Pregnancy, labor, delivery - it isn't a handicap. It's a stage of life. It's bringing a new life. Thousands of years women have done this job. And the vast majority of those have been women laboring in a field somewhere, or out gathering firewood or berries, delivering a baby, tying the cord with whatever came to hand, cutting it with an unsterile object, and going back to work with the newborn tied to their chest. And we survive. It is what we are made to do.<br /><br />When I stepped off the elevator my midwife was there to greet me. I was so happy to see her face. Midwives rotate. My least favorite had just gone off call. My most favorite had just come on. It could not have been more perfect. We walked down the hall and into my favorite room - The Big One With The Double Bed. No sterile hospital space, no bed that breaks down into something other, like a creepy medicalized Transformer. Just a regular bed.<br /><br />A brief check showed that I was not just in labor, I was past transition and heading for home. My contractions, which had slowed during all the fuss of moving from home to hospital, and the weirdness of sitting in a crowded admissions area trying not to breathe "too loudly", bounced back to a minute or so apart. I still had my earth mother face...each contraction coming on, being acknowledged and ridden out, and then let go. Textbook. Exactly like I knew it could be. Exactly like I knew it SHOULD be. Not quite an hour later I watched in fascination as my belly lifted with a contraction and seemed to bear down, pushing without any help from me.<br /><br />"Did that feel push-y?" asked Anne from her comfortable rocking chair opposite me. "Yes, a little" I responded. Endorphins are a wonderful thing.<br /><br />She came to my side and checked - yes. 10cm. Time to let this baby out. Time to see that face. Time to meet that person. Let the bonding begin.<br /><br />Left lateral Sims position, a brief series of controlled, perfect, panting pushes and I heard a voice say "Do you want to feel your babies head?"<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />One more push and the head was born. A brief moment to catch my breath, and shoulders next - big shoulders, too - that was memorable, although the pain immediately forgotten.<br /><br />"It's a bouncing baby....GIRL!?"<br /><br />Reaching down, I lifted the blueish squirming animal up to my face. Slowly, giant brown eyes opened in the little round face, covered in vernix and creased from a lifetime spent in water, and blinked up at me. And down I fell into them. Hello. Where have you been all my life? I'm your mother. And that won't ever change.<br /><br />Lots would come after - both immediately and not - and more will come, some good, some bad, some indifferent. Some passionate, some angry, some cold and hurtful, some gentle and warm.<br /><br />I have thought a lot in the last couple of years about whether or not, all things taken into account, I would do it again - either time. In my lower moments I question my sanity in choosing motherhood. I mean, really, you could smash your head on brick walls until you are bloody and the pain wouldn't come close. But neither would the joy.<br /><br />In the final analysis here is where I stand: a thing, once done, cannot be undone. It can, however, be accepted for what it is, and, like contractions, moved past and forgotten - retaining the good, releasing the less than good. Hold onto the good, let go of everything that isn't. Hold onto the love, let go of everything that isn't.<br /><br />And so... Happy Birthday, Girl. Whatever you are to yourself you remain one of the best things I have ever done in my life.Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-42335775214499732482018-03-09T10:17:00.001-05:002018-03-09T10:17:42.103-05:00Chameleons and Other CreaturesI don't even know where to start this because I think it plans to be more self-revelatory than I have been in a long time.<br /><br />I've been so boxed off from myself for so long...probably since I was a very small person, and certainly since around 2008 or so. And I can blame menopause, thyroid, deaths, births, marriages and divorces...but I think that is what we call life.<br /><br />There are so very many things that I would do so very differently if I had a do-over.<br /><br />We will start there. I am sorry. So very sorry for more things than I can put on 'paper', and if you are reading this my darling little porcupine, a fair amount of that is directed at you. My shrink informed me that I am "very self aware", and although I do reside in denial as much as possible, I am aware of things I did, stories I told, choices I made, words I chose, paths I took that were not for your betterment, or my own. I had this narrow restricted view of life, and now everything is so much more open. Dad would love this shit. (Dadism #1 - "Discretion is the better part of valor")<br /><br />I've undergone and am undergoing this crazy process spiritually, politically, emotionally. Will I ever be less than my freaky self? Not likely. Have I changed deeply and in ways that you wouldn't recognize? Probably. Definitely. Part of that is simple self-discovery. Most of my life, and there's been half of it gone already, have been spent in chameleon mode - being who someone else thought I should be, or at a minimum <i>trying</i> to be who someone else thought I should be. The 'who' varied, but the need to make everything perfect, control everything, make everything right (be good, do penance, be better, be perfect) probably begins with - sorry, Pris - my mother. (Again, of course, because mothers are always at fault, which is sad but true - they spend more time with us than anyone, and their issues are projected onto us, even if, like me, you try to make it so that doesn't happen!). Growing up on eggshells, the scars of which many of us now bear, alters who you are at a very fundamental level. For some, there is a giving in. For others there is a strong and consistent resistance even in the face of apparent yielding, a deep knowledge that you are not what people think you are and not what you're being conditioned to be. Like a plant kept in the dark, but watered and fed. Pale and weak and unhealthy, but by God it knows there is sun someplace, and it will just hold the hell on until it gets there. It made me a crappy role model. (Dadism #2 - "I am I. Not who my mother was. Not who my father was. I am I.")<br /><br />Sun has a way of getting in through the cracks. The more cracks, the more sun. More cracks, more sun. And if you get shattered. Well. It hurts and you bleed, and then the sun hits you explosively and you begin to grow. That's me. Plant, in the dark. Watered and fed, sparsely. Waiting for the light. Afraid of it, because it's going to hurt, but wanting it anyway.<br /><br />Slam all the doors, close all the windows, do what you will. Be a turtle, a porcupine, a chameleon hiding in the underbrush. The light will get in regardless. Then you can either ignore it or stare at it until your eyeballs burn up or...just let it shine. In my life I have done all that.<br /><br />I have always thought I needed something for which to exist. Something to save, take care of and fix. I also believed that I had to be "good". And by good I mean perfect. And by perfect I mean "someone else's vision of perfection". Well, when all the things you think you exist for are gone, and you have nothing really left, you start to get up close and personal with who you actually are. I think for many of us, the "less damaged" (lucky? blessed? oh you fools be grateful!), this happens when we are young. For those of us stunted by the dark closet, it takes longer. Some never get there. (Dadism #3, adapted version - "You can make good men better. I am not sure what you can do about the rest.") For me, it took what feels like a really long time.<br /><br />Who I am and what I believe is who I have always been. Who <i>that</i>&nbsp;is, is <i>NOT</i> who I appeared to be, or the beliefs I gave lip service to. There was always a war and a rebellion inside. Again, this goes back to the need to Be Perfect. Get It Right. Don't Make Me Hit You Again. For some people, there isn't enough love. There isn't enough proof. There isn't enough loyalty. There isn't enough of anything. When you grow up with someone like that as your primary caregiver - or even as a loud screaming nagging voice that you have to visit on weekends (just as an example), it causes you to believe that you must, must, must always try harder, be better, do more, prove this, prove that...but the bar always moves, because their needs are never met, and you always end up feeling worthless and like a failure because you just didn't get it exactly right AGAIN, no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you wanted to that time. Example:<br /><br />You have so much natural talent. You are so beautiful. (That girl is better than you. You could be better than her if you tried harder. She looks so pretty and thin.)<br /><br />I love you more. (No, I love YOU more) No, I love YOU MORE! (OK, you win, you love me more.) If you REALLY loved me, you wouldn't give up so easily!!<br /><br />Now let's say your other caregiver just wants things to be peaceful, and hopes that by not protesting, not making waves and not making a fuss things will go better for you. The unintended but unfortunately subliminally heard message is "...because you are great, and amazing, and I love you, but you are not worth the fight and the fuss, so let's just keep things quiet and hope it dies down, ok?"<br /><br />I didn't realize that until recently. That's unfixable. Just pure "Oh, shit, I didn't see that, I am so sorry." But now...instead of endless self-torment...there is just forgiveness, awareness, and acceptance. I cannot undo anyone's past. Not even my own. The thing is what it is. And it doesn't have any...barbs anymore. It's neutralized. Seeing it from this place changes everything. And that brings us to Dadism #4 - "Time heals all wounds and wounds all heels". I always saw myself as both the heel and the wounded. I don't see either now, really. I am not a horrible person, and instead of that being lip service, it's now knowledge. And where the deep gashes were there are scars that are beginning to fade the more the sun pours in on them.<br /><br />All along the path to this new and evolving place there were a series of wholly unhealthy diversions into territory in which I did not belong, but believed I deserved to be stuck in. It was all holes I put myself in, and clung to because I thought they would protect me or save me or keep me from Being Bad. All untrue. And nobody could get me out of that except me. (Dadism #5: "Charity (love) begins at home.")<br /><br />So where, and who, am I now? Not really sure. Different. But not. Sit down with me and we can discuss the finer points and my answers will either shock you, or make you smile and say "Yeah. I know. I was wondering when you'd figure that out."<br /><br />Some months ago I posted this thing on the facebooks that said "What if everything you ever believed wasn't true?" At the time I thought I understood what I was saying. Turns out I am only just beginning to understand what I meant. And probably never will know for sure.<br /><br />But I do know this: If it doesn't look like love, it isn't for me.&nbsp;I like who I always was. And I am walking away from who I wasn't - no grudge, no guilt, no shame. Work in progress. Unfinished.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-83540699145307639262017-05-17T09:07:00.000-04:002018-03-09T09:08:04.504-05:00Of Little ConsequenceThat's what this post is. Unless you want to know how the summer is going so far, in which case, read on!<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jiEm-j_EN9Y/WSCqAFVHgSI/AAAAAAAAVpw/hK1ZHdJ45bsahXVQBlJajo4u5JaGQ9C8QCLcB/s1600/C9507198-CF1D-4AA6-9D9C-B6597DCF398B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jiEm-j_EN9Y/WSCqAFVHgSI/AAAAAAAAVpw/hK1ZHdJ45bsahXVQBlJajo4u5JaGQ9C8QCLcB/s320/C9507198-CF1D-4AA6-9D9C-B6597DCF398B.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Part of why we moved down here was this "quality of life" concept thingy. We are mostly selfish humans who want more freedom, more adventures, more of the things we seem to have missed by being Responsible Adults for most of our lives.&nbsp;</div><div>We recently took a 48 hour trip to Myrtle Beach, which turned out to be a sort of a mistake, so we moved north to Oak Island Beach - a significant improvement! Myrtle was like Hampton, only worse. &nbsp;Oak Island was peaceful and beautiful. It was a nice get away, and served to remind me of just how much I really love living at the beach. I think sometimes I miss Plymouth more than Northfield, if I miss the north at all - and that's pretty debatable most days.</div><div>I entered a yoga challenge in an attempt to win five free classes at my favorite studio....and I WON! I think Gene's image really put me over the top...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-umTu9XmfQ1U/WSCqPFKMYQI/AAAAAAAAVqo/YbDoD_7V7H0JHV8cf7SR-ytWusEcPUJnQCEw/s1600/fullsizeoutput_783.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-umTu9XmfQ1U/WSCqPFKMYQI/AAAAAAAAVqo/YbDoD_7V7H0JHV8cf7SR-ytWusEcPUJnQCEw/s320/fullsizeoutput_783.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>I call it "Comfortable Seated Pose with Husband Making Giggles Happen". Basically you had to do a pose a day, copying the "host" of the challenge. I was pretty honest in my images. Like for side crow? There's a great series of images of me falling into the sand at Oak Island. Honesty is the best policy. Yoga, like life, is a journey. Not a destination. I am a long way from side crow, and man did I prove it.</div><div>We discovered Mount Mitchell, the highest point on the eastern seaboard, and the Blue Ridge Parkway...not that we didn't know they were there before, but we made a closer inspection.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wcPzyU0d5OQ/WSCqBghjWZI/AAAAAAAAVqo/mAC1Z06rQe03nH7oMfuo09SXSJAz2VvPgCEw/s1600/750FA83A-C12A-4CFE-A2CC-FE866C9FE272.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wcPzyU0d5OQ/WSCqBghjWZI/AAAAAAAAVqo/mAC1Z06rQe03nH7oMfuo09SXSJAz2VvPgCEw/s320/750FA83A-C12A-4CFE-A2CC-FE866C9FE272.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Looks more like home than anything we've seen, but then you get up around 6,600 feet and suddenly everything looks bigger.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s9Uo9qXO3uY/WSCqA9k9lNI/AAAAAAAAVqo/vFcArgFeOL80xki6oB9rGyL29FXqT_wlwCEw/s1600/DFF4FAD2-F5AF-45E1-B2B1-25DFB6BBF885.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s9Uo9qXO3uY/WSCqA9k9lNI/AAAAAAAAVqo/vFcArgFeOL80xki6oB9rGyL29FXqT_wlwCEw/s320/DFF4FAD2-F5AF-45E1-B2B1-25DFB6BBF885.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;<i>Gene drives my Prius like it's Gran Prix season on route 80 coming down from the parkway.&nbsp;</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wZnrw5j_C-I/WSCqMzbclhI/AAAAAAAAVqo/n6mRKy2aU0gsm9Bol1AjA8pidh0gVNrAQCEw/s1600/IMG_1534.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wZnrw5j_C-I/WSCqMzbclhI/AAAAAAAAVqo/n6mRKy2aU0gsm9Bol1AjA8pidh0gVNrAQCEw/s320/IMG_1534.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Mount Mitchell summit hike.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">We did this on Mother's Day. It was a lovely drive. The summit hike is 2 miles one way from the ranger station...we got there too late to do the whole thing, but we went a ways out and scoped it out, and really want to go back. We ate lunch at the restaurant there; delicious locally sourced trout dinner, which we split.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: left;">We also went to Pilot Mountain SP and Mount Airy... I don't remember when. The mountain is a cone that no one is "allowed" to climb...kind of a bummer because if you're into it I bet it's fun.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lgewz1CsM-0/WSCqJ0F9gAI/AAAAAAAAVqo/1p96UHJk32AQV8eHCTbw2HL56VRGPKRNwCEw/s1600/IMG_1292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lgewz1CsM-0/WSCqJ0F9gAI/AAAAAAAAVqo/1p96UHJk32AQV8eHCTbw2HL56VRGPKRNwCEw/s320/IMG_1292.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;<i>Pilot Mountain</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4J-eoZtRbwU/WSCqMnyBFuI/AAAAAAAAVqo/GtKUUh15_LEvRL7ewXg8zhJ3h-c7MOLqwCEw/s1600/IMG_1274.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4J-eoZtRbwU/WSCqMnyBFuI/AAAAAAAAVqo/GtKUUh15_LEvRL7ewXg8zhJ3h-c7MOLqwCEw/s320/IMG_1274.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>&nbsp;Perimeter hike</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gQJhu_EJiBo/WSCqH77TtRI/AAAAAAAAVqo/dBPZF_9GzGYYrEkNJGh4v5j57pdFDSmGgCEw/s1600/IMG_1238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gQJhu_EJiBo/WSCqH77TtRI/AAAAAAAAVqo/dBPZF_9GzGYYrEkNJGh4v5j57pdFDSmGgCEw/s320/IMG_1238.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Opie's Candy!</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Mount Airy is apparently where The Andy Griffith Show was filmed. We were there on Sunday which was probably a mistake because pretty much everything was locked up tight. But we saw a few landmarks and had a short walk. That was before we headed to Pilot Mountain. Again we were too late in the day to do the 2.5 mile hike there...but we got to scope it out and want to go back. Hiking is harder with Yoshi...we can't take him, or are not always sure if we can, and don't want to leave him forever with no food or walk. Dogs are...complicated.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Most recently we went to Charlotte Motor Speedway to watch the Nascar Camping World Truck Race. Yes, we are trying to touch our inner redneck.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tOss41L3jwM/WSCqPNHxeuI/AAAAAAAAVqo/XtNByesQ_T4hJ6WILlw-kpPuXsFgXMbygCEw/s1600/fullsizeoutput_78c.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tOss41L3jwM/WSCqPNHxeuI/AAAAAAAAVqo/XtNByesQ_T4hJ6WILlw-kpPuXsFgXMbygCEw/s320/fullsizeoutput_78c.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>&nbsp;We even have ear protection.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XCDJEtRI8pk/WSCqO8icwvI/AAAAAAAAVqo/gYC8xBCASc86H8ayzpRI27_PF7L91bsaQCEw/s1600/IMG_1668.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XCDJEtRI8pk/WSCqO8icwvI/AAAAAAAAVqo/gYC8xBCASc86H8ayzpRI27_PF7L91bsaQCEw/s320/IMG_1668.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>We got to see the cup series qualifying....that's cars, with names you might recognize, like Earnhardt (in the 88 car above! YAY!) and Busch (Like Kyle, BOO!) and Jimmie Johnson.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8jiysZKUg1A/WSCqPJtF6CI/AAAAAAAAVqo/lC0LjQnm620LWa9Cjnw4mOA7RELVR7vLQCEw/s1600/IMG_1657.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8jiysZKUg1A/WSCqPJtF6CI/AAAAAAAAVqo/lC0LjQnm620LWa9Cjnw4mOA7RELVR7vLQCEw/s320/IMG_1657.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Speaking of, there's Jimmie Johnson in the Lowes 48 up there. The race they were qualifying for runs tonight....we won't be there, but I bet a whole lot of people will!<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gAYddui4o7E/WSCqOLgk8KI/AAAAAAAAVqo/Cdsla__m6C0Ux0IjWohxFkv-2W19fKUEgCEw/s1600/IMG_1614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gAYddui4o7E/WSCqOLgk8KI/AAAAAAAAVqo/Cdsla__m6C0Ux0IjWohxFkv-2W19fKUEgCEw/s320/IMG_1614.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>And this is the number 7 Toyota Tundra driven by Brett Moffit who looks to be about twelve, but I am assured is actually a grown up, mostly.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4XakC4tQre0/WSCqNujWM_I/AAAAAAAAVqo/_HxZL8Qpe7o_RDSv1z8iBBCetRdLkc3AACEw/s1600/IMG_1610.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4XakC4tQre0/WSCqNujWM_I/AAAAAAAAVqo/_HxZL8Qpe7o_RDSv1z8iBBCetRdLkc3AACEw/s320/IMG_1610.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here he is, being interviewed before qualifying. Also pictured is Jen (she's the one with the coffee) Hebert, who is my cousin Kathy's daughter. She (Kathy, not Jen) died of lung cancer a few months after Dad...which is how he wanted it. He did not want her to die first, because although he suspected she was dying he wanted to pretend she wasn't going to. He was very successful in this. Jen does PR for Red Horse Racing, so we get to be fancy at races, and get into the pits, and see drivers up close, and all sorts of fun stuff like that. Jen spoils us, and we do not protest. Dad would be so jealous. In fact last night I wanted to call him so bad I could taste it.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Today we went to the Race City Festival here in Mooresville, which has almost nothing to do with racing, in spite of this whole town being driven (no pun intended) by the sport. Tomorrow we are going to a <a href="http://www.gottobencfestival.com/">Got to Be NC</a> festival in Raleigh...I think it's like a fair. Yay, FAIR!&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I just came back to this blog and discovered I never posted this ... it is from a year ago, May 2017, and I think it deserves to be posted. A lot has changed since then, both in Mooresville and in me. But this was a time.&nbsp;</div></div>Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-30220081552799391342017-05-10T08:41:00.001-04:002017-05-10T08:41:21.159-04:00A Thing I Am Apparently OverLittle things have been bothering me lately in bigger ways. I am not sure why this is. I suspect that as I emerge from this hollow space called "grief" and begin to look around me the little things start to seem big again. This no doubt will benefit the rest of humanity - no longer will I glare at people relaying normal life problems at me while sullenly thinking "Really? THIS is upsetting you? ARE YOUR PARENTS ALIVE??" Suddenly I want to vent, and about something so petty, so inane... and you seem to like to read me, so I will vent here.<br /><br />I am really sick and tired of online store stalking. Not me stalking them, but THEM stalking ME. WHAT IS UP WITH THIS? The first time I saw targeted ads in my right hand sidebar while using Gmail, I felt ill. Big brother, reading my emails and pointing me to websites selling bee supplies or yarn. It just wasn't ok - my paranoid self freaked right out and said it was walking away from the internet for good. But I made the trade because after all we are an information tech society, and more and more the internet and online shopping have become de riguer and blah blah blah. Fine. I use Amazon like it's my local mall. I don't like going to the mall. Given where I live now, I don't like going shopping period, except maybe for groceries, and then only to the Walmart Neighborhood Market that I could walk to if I chose. I liked the concept of online shopping, but the practice has become ...well, let me back up.<br /><br />When I was a child we shopped very locally, right in downtown Greenfield, most of the time. The overwhelming majority of what we needed could be obtained in, at most, a half-day-long shopping trip that had us home well before supper. Furniture, paper goods, food (even the exotic things like yogurt and bagels!), the occasional trip to Kentucky Fried Chicken to eat chicken out of a paper bucket and mashed potatoes from a spork while my mother noshed on fried fish wrapped in fake newspaper - it was all right there. If we needed dance- or skate-wear that usually required a separate adventurous trip to downtown Springfield, where it was still safe enough that I could be sent from The Shoe Box to fetch my mother a Coke and a pack of Marlboro's from a tiny nearby market hocking newspapers, magazines, and candy along with it's short list of preferred beverages and tobacco products. This would change over time, and eventually that walk would be removed from my 'allowed activity' list - the little market went out of business, no doubt destroyed by a culture more and more focused on one-stop destination shopping, and Springfield became a less safe place to roam. Why buy your Coke at the little market down the block, then walk a block for your produce, and another half a block for your meat when you can just get in your car (or take the bus) and drive to a shopping center where everything is laid out neatly for you in one handy stop - and cheaper, too! But I digress. For my riding boots and helmet, it was Northampton. But otherwise, everything we needed to live, from back to school clothes, to the ridiculous Polly Flinders dresses that no one else had to wear to my Brownie uniform, to the hideous caricature of tomatoes tucked in a white plastic tray in cello wrap and even the occasional very fresh lobster, were all handily available in one town, a mere fifteen minute drive from home. Thirty years before that, you probably wouldn't have had to leave Northfield for your needs - and if it wasn't available at Fred A. Irish's store you probably didn't need it.<br /><br />During those shopping trips to Greenfield we would stop in at the stores that dotted Main Street like sparkly jewels to my childish eyes - each one a treasure chest of adventure, filled with unique sights and smells, each holding different merchandise and a plethora of opportunity to lose myself in clothing racks or restrooms. At McClelland's there were parakeets like a rainbow in cages, and tanks full of inexpensive tropical fish, and a deliciously creaky old wooden floor. At Ann August, where we certainly couldn't afford to buy anything, we could stop and visit my grandmother. From Peggy Parker to Goodnow's to Wilson's...and if I was lucky to Brown's Toy Store...and maybe a stop at The Corner Cupboard for a grilled tuna and cheese and a Coke from the fountain, Greenfield had it all. We would find whatever was on the list - knee socks, t-shirts, and probably at least one turtle neck as my mother attempted every year to shove me, resisting, into one of the miserable things. It was small. It was provincial. And it was home. At Wilson's Department Store, and here is where this gets back to my point (I promise) we were generally stalked by one or more sales ladies. They created an overall feeling of discomfort, and it was here that I would do my best to disappear into the racks of ladies dresses and pretend I was in a fairy home, surrounded by brightly colored wall-hangings, with the outside world full of those disapproving eyes partially hidden behind horn-rimmed bi-focal glasses far, far away. I never have been able to determine if this stalking behavior was to prevent shoplifting, or because they really put the 'sale' in saleslady, but there they were - around every corner; continually hovering and in general making the whole experience uncomfortable with their intrusive presence. "Can I help? Can I help this other way? What if I help by doing this?" One never entered Wilson's without feeling extremely..."helped".<br /><br />Last night I experienced this thing that I despise - the thing that makes me feel like I am 7, hanging around on the inside of the large circular racks upstairs at Wilson's, avoiding my mother and those ever-present saleslady eyes, and amusing myself while she shopped for her fancy Barbizon peignoirs, or was being wrangled by the 'helpful' crew of salesladies into a girdle that appeared tasked well beyond it's abilities. I was once again stalked by 'helpful' salespersons - this time in the form of an email, another damned email in the relentless, endless stream of the things that flows into my inbox from every blessed retailer or service provider with whom I have ever done business... "Melissa! Have you forgotten something?". And in the email was the usual link, which took me immediately back to the shopping cart I had abandoned about a half an hour before.<br /><br />Yes...I did forget something. I forgot to unsubscribe, close my account, run away from your "store". I forgot to NEVER shop with you again, Jockey, Sierra Trading, Uniform Advantage, et al. I forgot how much I loathe feeling stalked and watched and hovered over; made to feel as if I am a bad consumer because I didn't complete checking out - as if by not buying your stuff I have taken the bread right from your very open, wide, gaping mouth.<br /><br />It happens all the time. My innocent 'window shopping', thanks to cookies and tracking, turns into a full-on sales assault; one with an air of desperation that makes me feel twitchy in my skin. Do you <i>really</i> need me to buy that one bra so very badly? Will my failure to buy those two scrub tops and coordinating bottoms in a color I don't yet have and don't really need break you this month?<br /><br />We have been on a vaguely minimalist path for a while now, and as a result purchasing is more a rarity than a common occurrence. Sometimes I "window shop" to amuse myself, and usually - now as in the 90's when I trawled catalogs with a pen - circling things I would buy if I could but never did because we couldn't afford it - I do not buy. But I shop. I amuse my eyes with sparkly jewels in the form of fancy undies, or a new coat when mine is perfectly fine, or a pair of shoes when my closet space is currently full. If you let me wander and roam, and make me feel comfortable and welcome, then when I need a new bra, or a new coat, or scrubs, I will be back. But if you stalk me to my inbox, adding yet another damned miserable email to the endless stream that I delete daily, you become more annoying background noise, and like the mosquito you are, I will slap at you, and eliminate you if I can. I will unsubscribe, and if that fails I will mark you spam, and when I need that bra I will likely just order one from Amazon - who has sense enough to leave me mostly alone (although I do find the recommendations annoying, at least they don't stalk me all the way to my inbox!).<br /><br />The young folks don't get it, having grown up in a world where privacy is an antiquated notion from the past. Or maybe they do get it, some of them. Maybe these movements toward minimizing, downsizing, tiny-house-lifestyle, living from and with the land...maybe they are a sign that deep within some of us still lie the desire for freedom and privacy. I live in hope. And I delete. Constantly.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-51208100173879345182017-02-20T13:22:00.001-05:002017-02-20T13:27:52.054-05:00Dear Jacinda - The Kitchen Post<div style="text-align: center;">I can't believe I haven't done this. When you mentioned wanting to see more updates, I didn't realize just how long it had been. You missed it all, man. It's been forever. So here's some images to amuse you, and update you on the craziness we put ourselves and this little house through last fall.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-txRHJ52zT5E/WKsnSN4_5QI/AAAAAAAAVTY/-6yymbwGJ6AE6HExBH-ghux_uNFYrWffgCLcB/s1600/20160713_081721.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-txRHJ52zT5E/WKsnSN4_5QI/AAAAAAAAVTY/-6yymbwGJ6AE6HExBH-ghux_uNFYrWffgCLcB/s320/20160713_081721.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is what we started with. To the right you can see the studs of the wall that divided the dining room from the living room and kitchen. I discovered after pulling all the sheetrock off that the wall was indeed load-bearing. The consequence is a 22' long beam in my attic that cost a tidy sum, but was well worth the investment.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UKhxT4gx24M/WKsnaEv2s1I/AAAAAAAAVUo/chLztZzvARAvyiBBrvXQRuuDg9JqSRruACLcB/s1600/nokitchen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UKhxT4gx24M/WKsnaEv2s1I/AAAAAAAAVUo/chLztZzvARAvyiBBrvXQRuuDg9JqSRruACLcB/s320/nokitchen.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;I think this may be the first time Gene has ever demo-ed a kitchen on his own. I had taken the wall down, the carpet was all up, but I was working a lot and he hadn't started work yet, so he got the brunt of the kitchen demo. My favorite moment was when he announced to me that removing old built in cabinets was "a big pain in the ass". Yes, dear. Yes it is...how well I know it.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CzyFPfbQ-8U/WKsnSsYOFtI/AAAAAAAAVTg/jao1PRpyfcgT22yQQh1jfeZnsxTwYoZQwCLcB/s1600/20160829_210010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CzyFPfbQ-8U/WKsnSsYOFtI/AAAAAAAAVTg/jao1PRpyfcgT22yQQh1jfeZnsxTwYoZQwCLcB/s320/20160829_210010.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;He proceeded with the demo and we eventually were down to nothing. The plan was to sheetrock the entire space; living, dining and kitchen, including the ceiling. I wanted to save as much of the old crown and baseboard as possible, not so much for money but because there isn't anything wrong with it. Why throw it away? The contractor was pretty sure I was nuts, but I really didn't care. In the end, all the crown and baseboard is original with a few small exceptions. I just primed and painted it all after pulling all the nails.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8TNhc6-i3lc/WKsnS8dFk2I/AAAAAAAAVTk/jAZ3Ckng_ocQmvsjc3bUuLzaWHaHd3TbwCLcB/s1600/20160830_080008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8TNhc6-i3lc/WKsnS8dFk2I/AAAAAAAAVTk/jAZ3Ckng_ocQmvsjc3bUuLzaWHaHd3TbwCLcB/s320/20160830_080008.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;This is into the living room from the dining room - you can see on the floor where the old wall and closet were.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OJ6HDicTGQI/WKsnTcLe1SI/AAAAAAAAVUw/JUMI_BPBelEW5bMwwONfa8h359wRhu8XwCEw/s1600/20160920_170031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OJ6HDicTGQI/WKsnTcLe1SI/AAAAAAAAVUw/JUMI_BPBelEW5bMwwONfa8h359wRhu8XwCEw/s320/20160920_170031.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;From the pictures above, to this...still in progress, but that partial wall/bookshelf with the pillars is about where the old closet was. The near edge of the gray rug would have been the original wall the divided the kitchen and dining room.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QYnBuFt-u1Y/WKsnTGAGvhI/AAAAAAAAVUw/kWvg-wqkVzQriKMlA_ikJao1hmXAAfFaQCEw/s1600/20160920_151241.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QYnBuFt-u1Y/WKsnTGAGvhI/AAAAAAAAVUw/kWvg-wqkVzQriKMlA_ikJao1hmXAAfFaQCEw/s320/20160920_151241.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Another view of the bookcase things - I wanted to create an "entry" feel, which I accomplished beautifully, I think. The remaining closet on the left is perfect for jackets, etc. The pillars and bookcases are now painted white to match the trim and cabinets. The flooring is "luxury vinyl", which was a cost saving decision. If the entire space had been hardwood, I would have made different choices. Because it was mixed old vinyl over plywood and hardwood, it was more cost effective to just go over it with the vinyl and save the money for other things, like granite on my island.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFfNGRsIjIk/WKsnZyJW6VI/AAAAAAAAVUw/-qHp3T-_zywkXyyWXEq8eKBOy320giR4gCEw/s1600/newkitchen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gFfNGRsIjIk/WKsnZyJW6VI/AAAAAAAAVUw/-qHp3T-_zywkXyyWXEq8eKBOy320giR4gCEw/s320/newkitchen.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Kitchen almost done. Lights are not in yet, and the backsplash isn't up. But you get the feel. We still need to paint the interior doors white.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1Ofk4cJKfSY/WKsnSJqB7ZI/AAAAAAAAVUw/FMkR1kAXHjscre46D9St99Z14EwQ3C2_wCEw/s1600/20160527_112715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1Ofk4cJKfSY/WKsnSJqB7ZI/AAAAAAAAVUw/FMkR1kAXHjscre46D9St99Z14EwQ3C2_wCEw/s320/20160527_112715.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">I will put some more photos of it "done" at the end. But now an update on what we do with our spare time...Gene went on that roller coaster, repeatedly. It is called Fury 325 and I love it. It's huge and fast. It's about 45 minutes from here at Carowinds. We also went to Dollywood and rode the coasters there, including a new one that may have ruined me for all other coasters.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wqc30z6LvCg/WKsnWJtndMI/AAAAAAAAVUw/BCJUMhu22ggQmhEyiK_lv_WImOL_PhhxACEw/s1600/IMG_0039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wqc30z6LvCg/WKsnWJtndMI/AAAAAAAAVUw/BCJUMhu22ggQmhEyiK_lv_WImOL_PhhxACEw/s320/IMG_0039.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;I work sometimes, when not wearing glasses with lights on them. Honest, I really do work.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PNQuL5LJut4/WKsnT80kGaI/AAAAAAAAVUw/zDHpyhQnevMAE9kUWSXW829iw7uZ0V3xACEw/s1600/IMG_0005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PNQuL5LJut4/WKsnT80kGaI/AAAAAAAAVUw/zDHpyhQnevMAE9kUWSXW829iw7uZ0V3xACEw/s320/IMG_0005.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Jen and I went horseback riding in Tennessee, and then I dragged Gene and made him go too a few weeks later. It was fun. Very pretty scenery. I like Tennessee a lot. Jen and I had planned to go to the beach, but Hurricane Matthew changed the plan. Mountains, beach, whatever.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-woNABpgy6Hw/WKsnWBA8I7I/AAAAAAAAVUw/9hX_G6U5js0SJYNd5iBWQvuieILlRPAuwCEw/s1600/IMG_0130.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-woNABpgy6Hw/WKsnWBA8I7I/AAAAAAAAVUw/9hX_G6U5js0SJYNd5iBWQvuieILlRPAuwCEw/s320/IMG_0130.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;We went to Florida (as usual) but without seeing Mickey Mouse not even ONE time, and ate insanely fresh strawberries from a roadside place. It was amazing. We also were advised to visit a place called "<a href="https://www.robertishere.com/">Robert Is Here</a>", which we did - and ended up eating some of the most intriguing fresh tropical fruit I have ever experienced. Highly recommend. We sat outside watching chickens while slurping down smoothies made from crazy things. Very fun.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SqOHPSnzW9c/WKsnXRJTvoI/AAAAAAAAVUw/cz8VxPiH2gkiWtBzfoLQfnadZIgANSPYwCEw/s1600/IMG_0312.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SqOHPSnzW9c/WKsnXRJTvoI/AAAAAAAAVUw/cz8VxPiH2gkiWtBzfoLQfnadZIgANSPYwCEw/s320/IMG_0312.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Everglades visit - we took a boat tour into the 10,000 Islands, and the dolphins followed us around and jumped in the boat wake. At one point the whole pod was there, including a baby shepherded by two adults. It was really cool.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JqoABCr5GR0/WKsnZ_10asI/AAAAAAAAVUw/ji8sMlNTV54rbXaT2n8ryxr22gev8l5YQCEw/s1600/fullsizeoutput_497.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JqoABCr5GR0/WKsnZ_10asI/AAAAAAAAVUw/ji8sMlNTV54rbXaT2n8ryxr22gev8l5YQCEw/s320/fullsizeoutput_497.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">I think this is from the keys. We drove all the way down to Key West, and then drove back to Key Largo where we were staying. This isn't a thing I would probably repeat.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jDHlXnW8arQ/WKsnXtaMIiI/AAAAAAAAVU0/fP9nQ8Z9gBov6SYC1tD8NgKl2YfWCn55wCEw/s1600/IMG_0382.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jDHlXnW8arQ/WKsnXtaMIiI/AAAAAAAAVU0/fP9nQ8Z9gBov6SYC1tD8NgKl2YfWCn55wCEw/s320/IMG_0382.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">We took selfies. This was snorkeling somewhere...maybe? Or maybe just a swim. We stopped at a bunch of beaches up the west coast, because instead of flying back we drove home. We swam and snorkeled wherever it was possible. I loved the beaches, particularly Venice. I did not like Naples much. Entirely too chi-chi for me.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yjzwshEBcvM/WKsnXvlwg7I/AAAAAAAAVUw/9oazgBl2ypUPvPjl4Yq5F9VceYydPvPcwCEw/s1600/IMG_0372.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yjzwshEBcvM/WKsnXvlwg7I/AAAAAAAAVUw/9oazgBl2ypUPvPjl4Yq5F9VceYydPvPcwCEw/s320/IMG_0372.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">When I sent you the text about the place we had dinner at in Everglades City that you would love? &nbsp;This is it, Camellia Street Grill. Lights on strings, a dance floor to the left out of the frame, lots of bare feet and beer and stone crabs caught that morning. They have a wonderful salad with fresh herbs, and just generally are the sort of laid back image I have of old Florida, before the Damn Tourists Showed Up and Ruined It.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JyUHH6YDZ5A/WKsnXta4l2I/AAAAAAAAVU0/Ru1BVZyrMeEn_21NsC5IYL0D4M_ZJDp7wCEw/s1600/IMG_0355.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JyUHH6YDZ5A/WKsnXta4l2I/AAAAAAAAVU0/Ru1BVZyrMeEn_21NsC5IYL0D4M_ZJDp7wCEw/s320/IMG_0355.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;This was also in the Everglades; a board walk through a jungle, surrounded by wildlife. Snakes, gators, birds. It was picturesque and slightly intimidating. I was happy to be on the boardwalk. We did see tons of gators lying on the bank of a channel beside route 41 between Miami and Everglades City, and a couple of large things draped in trees that I suspect were pythons. They weren't gators, and weren't birds, but they were something big and drape-y.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fYfkQvuwzxk/WKsnZXQXwRI/AAAAAAAAVU4/uoXdjnIPkKsTdO28K7fcRhR37onjxnTlACEw/s1600/IMG_0575.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fYfkQvuwzxk/WKsnZXQXwRI/AAAAAAAAVU4/uoXdjnIPkKsTdO28K7fcRhR37onjxnTlACEw/s320/IMG_0575.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Quilt 1: Started for my father, but the lady wasn't going to get it back to me "in time" back there, so it sat until now. Now it is done and has no home, but there it is.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jtanp_YtOLw/WKsnZgoKKAI/AAAAAAAAVU0/4cGQ5BHSV6kL4TmHUrqZ1r1ckWZeKjBrQCEw/s1600/IMG_0576.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jtanp_YtOLw/WKsnZgoKKAI/AAAAAAAAVU0/4cGQ5BHSV6kL4TmHUrqZ1r1ckWZeKjBrQCEw/s320/IMG_0576.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Quilt 2: Jelly Roll Race quilt made with a jelly roll I got for free somewhere. We like this one and will probably keep it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qiBUTN18Xu4/WKsnZgp6s5I/AAAAAAAAVUw/fo5HEAySlkwuDDSFlthe3FlSuzR7w_hxwCEw/s1600/IMG_0577.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qiBUTN18Xu4/WKsnZgp6s5I/AAAAAAAAVUw/fo5HEAySlkwuDDSFlthe3FlSuzR7w_hxwCEw/s320/IMG_0577.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The quilt that made me hate quilting. I started this when we lived on Jewett Road I think, and it sat forever unfinished. I finally just threw a back on it and had it finished on a long arm here, and sent it away to Texas to a good home. The good news is that I like quilting again.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-248CNyVco8E/WKsu6Kq8s1I/AAAAAAAAVVI/hXCD1osQF_k9SJuW5txhLOwf0d35Mx7iwCLcB/s1600/IMG_0754.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-248CNyVco8E/WKsu6Kq8s1I/AAAAAAAAVVI/hXCD1osQF_k9SJuW5txhLOwf0d35Mx7iwCLcB/s320/IMG_0754.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The finished kitchen. Granite on the island, the legs we got for $1 a piece at the ReStore. There is a prep sink in the island, which is right close to the fridge for easy prep. The "big" sink is under the window, and is a single-bowl 32" long, quite deep one. I was really frustrated by not being able to fit my half sheet pan easily into the sink, because we use it fairly often.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TiXoWKlzHL0/WKsu6Prid_I/AAAAAAAAVVE/Mrc46CW5kAQjQhX4WR7RIayWDYzSjMAeQCLcB/s1600/IMG_0755.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TiXoWKlzHL0/WKsu6Prid_I/AAAAAAAAVVE/Mrc46CW5kAQjQhX4WR7RIayWDYzSjMAeQCLcB/s320/IMG_0755.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Quartz countertops on the perimeter. Kitchen backsplash tile is ceramic wood-look planks intended for flooring. I love them. Plus they cost me less and 1/4 of what a wall tile would have cost. We got these at a discount place in Charlotte. I LOVE this tile SO MUCH. It echoes the floor, and gives some interest without being overwhelming or pigeonholed to a color.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DtlpLDyvPPM/WKsu6MkfzuI/AAAAAAAAVVA/qhcAACKpsG8kvZejwXBRIOg5P-XRg2TMQCLcB/s1600/IMG_0756.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DtlpLDyvPPM/WKsu6MkfzuI/AAAAAAAAVVA/qhcAACKpsG8kvZejwXBRIOg5P-XRg2TMQCLcB/s320/IMG_0756.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;There used to be a wall there, separating these two spaces. Crazy.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q7gqTH-Zfeo/WKsu7FF1Y7I/AAAAAAAAVVM/f4Z_BmLXltksPmOIxoKhyHhh83lRfyf3gCLcB/s1600/IMG_0757.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q7gqTH-Zfeo/WKsu7FF1Y7I/AAAAAAAAVVM/f4Z_BmLXltksPmOIxoKhyHhh83lRfyf3gCLcB/s320/IMG_0757.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">And there. Wall-be-gone! Dining room into living room, everything open and light now. It was SO dark at the back of the house before, but now light penetrates everything.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lP0fTjCA6E4/WKsu7Eo4qZI/AAAAAAAAVVQ/el7mth87pCEs06v3Y-3EzcTFjzv_770AgCLcB/s1600/IMG_0758.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lP0fTjCA6E4/WKsu7Eo4qZI/AAAAAAAAVVQ/el7mth87pCEs06v3Y-3EzcTFjzv_770AgCLcB/s320/IMG_0758.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And last one - the living room. We kept the built in, which houses the TV perfectly. The picture over the fireplace is a poster of a picture I took in Plymouth mounted on canvas and framed. Loved the picture and it its perfectly.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">So that's it, that's the nutshell update! Lots of other things going on, but mostly just working and being in this place, which we like...but we're open to more change in the future if we feel led to wander again. I like NC, but the road is always open and seems to be calling!&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And a note for Sally...yes, we are right down the road from you, and have been to Troutman a few times! I am starting a new job in Statesville, so I am up and down 77 through there more often now. Small world! :)&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-70618928705280559612016-04-17T17:40:00.000-04:002016-07-29T20:32:54.013-04:00Orange Azalea<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7mevr" data-offset-key="6gofi-0-0" style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6gofi-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="6gofi-0-0">Once upon a time I met Corinne, a hospice nurse who's presence with her patients touched me to my core. She lived next to my mother, and she precepted me during a clinical rotation with hospice - my chosen community nursing experience. She was an avid gardener with a green thumb who loved growing the unusual as well as the ordinary. </span>She was an extraordinary nurse and an amazing human being. One time when my mother's side yard flooded and then froze, she grabbed her skates and my kids and their skates, and spent a joyful day in the side yard, slipping and falling and just having fun.&nbsp;</div><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6gofi-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="6gofi-0-0">I watched her during our days together as she navigated end of life issues, financial issues, fear issues, family issues, medication and pain issues with her patients and their families with an amazing level of pure unconditional love and selfless presence. She brought only herself - no judgements, no opinions, just herself. They adored her, rightly, and would tell her their deepest fears without even a glance in my direction - she made them feel so safe, and so secure, that I disappeared from the space, and she was just there with them, holding hands, opening hearts, loving. She was the epitome of nurse to me.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6gofi-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="6gofi-0-0">Then she developed cancer. And many hearts broke and many prayers went up as her friends and family rallied around. I wasn't lucky enough to be that close, but I watched from next door and prayed along with the rest that God would heal her. After some time and treatment, her cancer went into remission. So she made it a priority to LIVE. She and her husband traveled more, to places mostly familiar and nearby. They rode bikes together, adopted a new healthier lifestyle to help keep cancer at bay, and spent lots of time with family and friends. It seemed as if a brush with death had taught her how to live in a way even more open and more giving and move loving than she'd lived before, which felt impossible.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7mevr" data-offset-key="4dda3-0-0" style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4dda3-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="4dda3-0-0">She once tried to grow an orange azalea - not common in Massachusetts. But it didn't do very well in her yard, so she gave it to my mother. I coveted it, and my mother didn't give it the attention it deserved. When my mother lost her house, I stole it from her back yard. </span>It was a scrawny puny thing, but I loved it.&nbsp;</div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7mevr" data-offset-key="fe6ki-0-0" style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CtF2hLxjR6k/VxQACE_943I/AAAAAAAAQd8/XRTHoT-JalUZQgHqt21B59U-_ejgBuLtACLcB/s1600/tangerine-delight-native-azalea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CtF2hLxjR6k/VxQACE_943I/AAAAAAAAQd8/XRTHoT-JalUZQgHqt21B59U-_ejgBuLtACLcB/s320/tangerine-delight-native-azalea.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="fe6ki-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="fe6ki-0-0">Then the cancer came back. Again we prayed, and my mother and I made soup, and her friends from hospice moved into her home and stayed by her side and gave to her and her husband what she had given to so very many. And after a long and hard battle, Corinne died, and the orange azalea suddenly took off. I'd moved it it to my house in Bernardston, and it thrived and grew huge.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="fe6ki-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="fe6ki-0-0">When we sold that house, I cried over the azalea. I had actually included it in a list of things we would be taking with us, but time grew short, and no one could be found to help me dig it up. And it needed help by that point. It needed a truck, and a chain, and a group to pull it up. So it stayed behind. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7mevr" data-offset-key="2co2m-0-0" style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2co2m-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="2co2m-0-0">After we moved to West Northfield, our realtor and very dear friend Pam found one, and brought it to me. She wouldn't let me pay for it. I cried as I planted it, because it felt like home. It grew and bloomed and did very well in the back yard right outside the bedroom window. When we left, I had to leave it behind. I didn't think it would do well in a pot in Plymouth for however long our time there lasted, and I didn't know if it would thrive wherever we landed next. It made me very sad. Orange azaleas somehow now mean home. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7mevr" data-offset-key="62p3d-0-0" style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="62p3d-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="62p3d-0-0">When we got here and I started to get to know my very beloved neighbors Troy and Wilma, I discovered that Troy and I share a love of flowering shrubs - although he is a genius and an expert with them and I am a novice. Camellias and azaleas are his favorites. My yard is very barren for the time being because the former owners weren't into the whole yard maintenance thing, and Troy will often call me over to see specimens he thinks are worthy of note.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="62p3d-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="62p3d-0-0">The other day he called me over to see his newest azalea - only one year old - a native orange azalea; Tangerine Delight, orange with a little lick of yellow on one side, the exact one Corinne tried to grow, that followed me to Bernardston, that Pam found for Northfield, that I once again had to leave behind. I literally choked up when I saw it. I asked where it came from (Asheville) and promised myself I would get one sometime this spring. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7mevr" data-offset-key="5bj0m-0-0" style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5bj0m-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="5bj0m-0-0">Just now there was a knock on my door, and Troy and Wilma were in my front yard. Troy pointed to a big pot between my bigger maple trees, and said "Well, now, where did THAT come from?? Don't you think you should get that thing into the ground?" </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7mevr" data-offset-key="dauuv-0-0" style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="dauuv-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="dauuv-0-0">It's my orange azalea. It has a few buds coming - things are colder in the mountains and a bit behind here, and it should bloom in a bit once it's planted. And they won't take a penny for it, and Wilma told me about the iris she bought for $3 each, and Troy bragged on his new red azalea that should bloom in a few days - these are from the mountains and are a little behind us down here - and I tried not to cry (unsuccessfully).</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7mevr" data-offset-key="2hol4-0-0" style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2hol4-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="2hol4-0-0">I think I must be home. </span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span data-offset-key="2hol4-0-0"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AYYpXyBdejk/VxP8zTKBkUI/AAAAAAAAQdk/dpcU-p3LNN8cEPpNwS--JuD_BWwedK56gCLcB/s1600/20160417_165614.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AYYpXyBdejk/VxP8zTKBkUI/AAAAAAAAQdk/dpcU-p3LNN8cEPpNwS--JuD_BWwedK56gCLcB/s320/20160417_165614.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div><span data-offset-key="2hol4-0-0"></span></div></div>Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-67783164806947471602016-02-28T19:25:00.000-05:002016-02-28T19:25:08.170-05:00The Game Continues <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Dear Jacinda Again -&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These entries are going to be pretty light on words and heavy on images...or at least for now they will be. We're gonna do it like I just opened an envelope from FotoMat. Remember them?&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So much has happened since last time. I finished the bathroom. We had a hole in that wall under the window, and no art up. So now there's art and the hole is fixed and the towel bar is up. Tell Greg not to look too close. It's up. That's what matters.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K09dagdHlHk/VtOEk3iB2sI/AAAAAAAAOig/HfvRVliiUJM/s1600/20160212_203845.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K09dagdHlHk/VtOEk3iB2sI/AAAAAAAAOig/HfvRVliiUJM/s320/20160212_203845.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>So. Electricians. Yeah. I called a plumber to fix a couple of small things - run a line for the ice maker that Lowe's generously gave me for free with my fridge purchase, and while he was here maybe move the washer fill hoses up from floor level (as in on the floor, no kidding) to a more normal three or four feet up the wall. While he was doing that there was a zzzaaap and some swearing. And then a second ZAAAAP and a lot of swearing. Louder, and with sparks inside and out. He hadn't hit anything; just leaned on a wall, and he got hit pretty good. I asked if my bill would go up - and said I'd provide the electrocution for free if he wanted. So I called electricians. Many, many dollars and many, many days later, I have a new panels inside and out and everything beyond that (super pretty, right? Just what I wanted. Everyone will notice it, I know), and some extra things just for kicks - like ceiling fixtures and outlets that aren't all (yes, all) tied to a wall switch. I am also mostly rewired. The thing that bit the plumber was the 220 to the cooktop. It broke and shorted. But the breaker didn't trip until he hit it a second time, and the old panel was proved to be some older model known for not tripping and causing house fires. A lot of the breakers were melted, there was a ton of corrosion. I won't bore you with the details, but it ate the whole kitchen budget, or enough of it that everything came to a grinding halt. Except that I don't do "halt" well at all as you'll see below.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sVsefg5eBiM/VtOEk5ZzdlI/AAAAAAAAOig/yiAT3LWaqaI/s1600/20160212_162140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sVsefg5eBiM/VtOEk5ZzdlI/AAAAAAAAOig/yiAT3LWaqaI/s320/20160212_162140.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Violet really loved getting into the cabinets. It was driving me really crazy. Couldn't keep her out. And really I was so sick of looking at my stuff. I like things put away. Between the stuff on the counters from the electricians and plumber needing to get in everything and the darn cat climbing up there it was getting annoying.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8ZZDk2fWsRE/VtOEk6UzSWI/AAAAAAAAOig/LLDh9Sl2rKU/s1600/IMG_20160213_071751.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8ZZDk2fWsRE/VtOEk6UzSWI/AAAAAAAAOig/LLDh9Sl2rKU/s320/IMG_20160213_071751.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Oh! We went for tacos on my birthday! I found this place called Burrito Loco. So, so good. I had these - gringa tacos with pork (because one cannot be a vegetarian when there are these kind of tacos. Just cannot) and fresh lime and cilantro and tomatillo...sigh. SO good. Gene had shrimp tacos which were also AMAZING. Love it there. Remind me to take you.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1GzH1W32iGM/VtOEk1Y7YCI/AAAAAAAAOig/RK5yJpH235c/s1600/20160218_172337.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1GzH1W32iGM/VtOEk1Y7YCI/AAAAAAAAOig/RK5yJpH235c/s320/20160218_172337.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Gene hung out with the boys which made them very, very happy. I don't play ball right. I don't rough house right. They miss him a lot. And I really enjoyed not walking them for potty time ONCE for DAYS!<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZCg0zPUzOfY/VtOEky52IKI/AAAAAAAAOig/TaUgW8gvRxA/s1600/20160218_155304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZCg0zPUzOfY/VtOEky52IKI/AAAAAAAAOig/TaUgW8gvRxA/s320/20160218_155304.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I got a birthday present from you - and it totally made me day. So excited about the syrup, the seeds and the picture. The seeds are started along with my cherry tomato seeds from farmer's market cherry tomatoes I got back in Greenfield. Don't know who sold them to me, don't know what they are, just know Gene loves them. Started tomatoes. Before my birthday. Love it here. Except...no April. Sad Omie face.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DrHcdFWKY1o/VtOEk2rT8gI/AAAAAAAAOig/jwSReP36pKY/s1600/20160220_164230.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DrHcdFWKY1o/VtOEk2rT8gI/AAAAAAAAOig/jwSReP36pKY/s320/20160220_164230.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Gene hung the Algot shelving from Ikea in the craft room/office closet. Now we both have room for all the stuff we think we need but totally don't. It's come together. I could work in there if I wasn't all over the rest of the house.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Og0jdGhSS_w/VtOEk3IqoQI/AAAAAAAAOig/s07uZT_Hl8k/s1600/IMG_20160220_175931.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Og0jdGhSS_w/VtOEk3IqoQI/AAAAAAAAOig/s07uZT_Hl8k/s320/IMG_20160220_175931.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>&nbsp;Dad had a birthday, too, or would have. We celebrated with KFC, just like we did last year with him. We sat and ate in the restaurant and I remembered how he would take me to the one in Keene on the way back to Dublin and we would talk. It was a right thing to do.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WNvSSk2dt6g/VtOEk8KGTXI/AAAAAAAAOig/J0UXdDSiwDQ/s1600/IMG_20160221_133935.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WNvSSk2dt6g/VtOEk8KGTXI/AAAAAAAAOig/J0UXdDSiwDQ/s320/IMG_20160221_133935.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>And Rusty Nails, because he would want me to. Then I watched the Dayton 500, because he would also approve of that. Since then I have watched three other races. It's not a bad way to pass a few hours; watching cars or trucks turn left while knitting with dogs on my feet.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8aqRKBvCwUU/VtOEk6vq85I/AAAAAAAAOig/SBTRA5EURuo/s1600/IMG_20160221_175523.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8aqRKBvCwUU/VtOEk6vq85I/AAAAAAAAOig/SBTRA5EURuo/s320/IMG_20160221_175523.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>We went to this place on our last night before Gene left - Lancaster's. It's ... well. I don't need to go again. Tacos, I need. I don't need this. It wasn't bad. But it just wasn't for me.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DoAUOBnURUE/VtOEkwrt2kI/AAAAAAAAOig/1qzWfu9Ky3Q/s1600/20160222_174603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DoAUOBnURUE/VtOEkwrt2kI/AAAAAAAAOig/1qzWfu9Ky3Q/s320/20160222_174603.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>&nbsp;Or for Gene...<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eZ2x1KxW86U/VtOEk9bwW8I/AAAAAAAAOig/lYbSdXx_e3g/s1600/20160222_174558.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eZ2x1KxW86U/VtOEk9bwW8I/AAAAAAAAOig/lYbSdXx_e3g/s320/20160222_174558.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Love this fixture in the dining room. Love it. So do the neighbors, who all complimented me on it after I left the shades up the first night it was hanging. In case you wondered if the neighbors are in your business, they most certainly are. And it's ok with me. If something is out of place, off, strange, they will be the first to know, and will have no problem asking about it. Feels very safe.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-INAJ8SXApdg/VtOEk3JrAKI/AAAAAAAAOig/aASOfllJkwM/s1600/20160222_193436.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-INAJ8SXApdg/VtOEk3JrAKI/AAAAAAAAOig/aASOfllJkwM/s320/20160222_193436.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>We started getting the cabinet doors on and finished them just before Gene left. Again, Greg should not look. They are up and that's all that matters. I need to sand in spots, do some touch ups, and hang the last few handles. I sort of lost interest in this after Gene left. I got kind of mopey. Kind of.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R2H2Te9dLGs/VtOEk_-lnQI/AAAAAAAAOig/wv-wAgz-2iw/s1600/20160222_134536.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R2H2Te9dLGs/VtOEk_-lnQI/AAAAAAAAOig/wv-wAgz-2iw/s320/20160222_134536.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>He will be back in March. But it is hard to do all this separation stuff. It's not who we are. I am sure some shrink would tell me how healthy it is - look, I can live alone, and isn't that great. Well, I already knew I could. And I chose not to, until now. I will be happy when it is May.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3bjSfsj97WQ/VtOEk83X-NI/AAAAAAAAOig/qW51iWqdGic/s1600/20160223_093011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3bjSfsj97WQ/VtOEk83X-NI/AAAAAAAAOig/qW51iWqdGic/s320/20160223_093011.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>The electricians took away all the baseboard heaters that weren't functioning, and I started scraping the mess left behind. Since this they've been tapped and patched where needed and skim coated with joint compound and sanded once. I need to do a couple more coats, and then I can paint and put up baseboard. They left the wiring for the heaters in boxes at the floor. I can cover them with white plates after I put up the baseboard around them, and they will sort of blend in since the baseboard will be white. It's better than blank white plates on the walls, I think. Pulling it all out is complicated because the crawl space under the house is insulated and they all come from down there. This is the best fix for now.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Cfv3fJsoKWU/VtOEk9YisJI/AAAAAAAAOig/bwbyA5zdDos/s1600/IMG_20160224_083636.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Cfv3fJsoKWU/VtOEk9YisJI/AAAAAAAAOig/bwbyA5zdDos/s320/IMG_20160224_083636.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>These two guys came and cut a hole for a proper range after the glass cooktop electrocution incident. I really needed an oven that could hold a sheet pan. The wall oven I had is a 24 inch model. Nothing fits in it. Teeny thing. The cooktop had been dead since the plumber got hit. Now there can be cooking. They bartered me the cooktop for half of the work, which worked out well for everyone.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q7BH7hIW-UI/VtOEk9SxYSI/AAAAAAAAOig/JxoIQwt4Ls4/s1600/IMG_20160224_105204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q7BH7hIW-UI/VtOEk9SxYSI/AAAAAAAAOig/JxoIQwt4Ls4/s320/IMG_20160224_105204.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I wanted the ceiling fan in the bathroom replaced, and got one with a light so that you get light in the shower and a new, modern fan that vents to the soffit vent instead of the old one which was venting to....the attic insulation. Tipped right over, face down in the insulation. Because one wants one's shower steam to go into insulation. But I could not find a fan that would fit the old space, so I had to fix the ceiling.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IZ8a0enizb0/VtOEk1bF_1I/AAAAAAAAOig/YqWiSBc2P-w/s1600/20160224_140542.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IZ8a0enizb0/VtOEk1bF_1I/AAAAAAAAOig/YqWiSBc2P-w/s320/20160224_140542.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>&nbsp;See. No fit. Very sad. But that fix Greg can look at, because so far it's going brilliantly.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gD08cW6nSxg/VtOEk7bMKYI/AAAAAAAAOig/e60xi-b-K7U/s1600/20160224_140538.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gD08cW6nSxg/VtOEk7bMKYI/AAAAAAAAOig/e60xi-b-K7U/s320/20160224_140538.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>We lost power. We had tornado warnings and such while the guys were making the space for the range. We never would have known if Neighbor Troy hadn't wandered over and come along to tell me. I battened down, closed the garage, and the storm passed by pretty quickly. The guys finished and left, and about an hour or so later the power went out, and stayed out until after dark. We had some intense wind for about 16 hours.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gJbQG5sLnq0/VtOEk8urURI/AAAAAAAAOig/CfUV4JOf_zc/s1600/IMG_20160224_174835.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gJbQG5sLnq0/VtOEk8urURI/AAAAAAAAOig/CfUV4JOf_zc/s320/IMG_20160224_174835.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>The power was off long enough that I decided to cast on a sweater (because that's what you do when you have no lights...). It came on later that night, but the wind howled away until morning.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-taJnmZUDlnY/VtOEk6umihI/AAAAAAAAOig/4nrQiafYr98/s1600/IMG_20160224_200207.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-taJnmZUDlnY/VtOEk6umihI/AAAAAAAAOig/4nrQiafYr98/s320/IMG_20160224_200207.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I got miserably bored with the black front door and decided it was time for a change. This is not the change...it's the pre-change!<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z3mwiMeBlqc/VtOEk_Nt6ZI/AAAAAAAAOig/czTlRQacEO0/s1600/20160225_092347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z3mwiMeBlqc/VtOEk_Nt6ZI/AAAAAAAAOig/czTlRQacEO0/s320/20160225_092347.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I fried eggs. Repeatedly. It is true that 'you don't know what you've got till it's gone'. I was SO happy to have a stove again; I could eat fried eggs every day just so I can use the stove.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nru_dOzQao8/VtOEk2NrFYI/AAAAAAAAOig/CbKmh_Pmw8A/s1600/20160225_123043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nru_dOzQao8/VtOEk2NrFYI/AAAAAAAAOig/CbKmh_Pmw8A/s320/20160225_123043.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>More ceiling patching...it's actually almost done now. I will be glad when there's a light and a cover there. But this fan? Wow. Before it was like there was no fan, just a ceiling based noise-maker, and now the mirror doesn't even get the slightest bit wet, and I take insane long hot showers. Very happy I made this choice, even though it requires more work.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cIqqWR7rfr4/VtOEk2lKrAI/AAAAAAAAOig/jL3IvpA8vhc/s1600/IMG_20160225_095826.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cIqqWR7rfr4/VtOEk2lKrAI/AAAAAAAAOig/jL3IvpA8vhc/s320/IMG_20160225_095826.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Red door - it's really orange, like a bittersweet crayon (or like the berry). I am debating bringing that color on to the storm door too. Today when I came home from shopping it really felt like I need to bring it out all the way. More will be revealed.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-93hAdRK6i1k/VtOEk4Do4TI/AAAAAAAAOig/b7Ku8nVYe0A/s1600/20160225_162617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-93hAdRK6i1k/VtOEk4Do4TI/AAAAAAAAOig/b7Ku8nVYe0A/s320/20160225_162617.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I bought this fabric to cover this chair. The chair was Aunt Blanche's. I need to refinish it and then make covers for the cushions. I had been using it as my porch chair in Plymouth, but now I am undecided. It's feeling heirloom-y now. Maybe it deserves to be inside. It is a perfect sewing and knitting chair in height. My feet actually touch the floor. Unheard of!<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1nekG1jRkw4/VtOEk_4zHsI/AAAAAAAAOig/sJZz-vrz17A/s1600/20160227_141119.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1nekG1jRkw4/VtOEk_4zHsI/AAAAAAAAOig/sJZz-vrz17A/s320/20160227_141119.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>&nbsp;Violet. Found. Yarn. And she loves it. A lot.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mOICs4SubGk/VtOEk6O2C-I/AAAAAAAAOig/f4oQrU4uaGg/s1600/20160227_141923.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mOICs4SubGk/VtOEk6O2C-I/AAAAAAAAOig/f4oQrU4uaGg/s320/20160227_141923.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Today I was bored and really actually... ok look. I wasn't bored. I was heartbroken. Sad. Crying a lot. Dad's dead. Gene's gone back north. I'm alone. Not alone-alone, but alone. I had a pity party and decided that I needed to DO something about it, so I did. I did something. I grabbed my maul and a wrecking bar and a hammer and a broom and a box of black trash bags.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bu5za4ijrnU/VtOEk53yJ7I/AAAAAAAAOig/cMThGMXlAwc/s1600/20160228_101104.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bu5za4ijrnU/VtOEk53yJ7I/AAAAAAAAOig/cMThGMXlAwc/s320/20160228_101104.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I stopped here. I said that wall was coming out. I meant it. I only stopped because when you do demo alone you realize that there's clean up. And dogs to walk. And maybe lunch to make. And there isn't anyone to pick up the slack when I decide to remember I am not 25.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PkCnYz0T2AA/VtOEk6y6OcI/AAAAAAAAOig/8FE0x_mm7C8/s1600/20160228_125654.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PkCnYz0T2AA/VtOEk6y6OcI/AAAAAAAAOig/8FE0x_mm7C8/s320/20160228_125654.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I need someone to come and tell me for sure that I am right about what's structural and what's not, and then this puppy is coming DOWN. Down and out. Until the sun went down I could not stop looking over there at the sun pouring in the front window. This is going to be amazing.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cwUDuLn7-u0/VtOEkzNAAGI/AAAAAAAAOig/9hebZ_ia0EM/s1600/20160228_142454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cwUDuLn7-u0/VtOEkzNAAGI/AAAAAAAAOig/9hebZ_ia0EM/s320/20160228_142454.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>And then next week I can make a few trips to the dump and get rid of all this... which down here is pennies a pound. It's crazy. 800 lbs of carpet and padding for al of about $16? Sign me up! If the quantities were smaller, they'd come and get it at the curb. Actually, they may do that now based on some of the piles I've seen outside of people's homes, but it's easier to just load it up and get rid of it rather than carrying it all up to the curb.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AgOh8c-DPjI/VtOEk-doCTI/AAAAAAAAOig/mLzJfa_af3U/s1600/20160228_152623.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AgOh8c-DPjI/VtOEk-doCTI/AAAAAAAAOig/mLzJfa_af3U/s320/20160228_152623.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>That's it for now...more later when there's more to see! Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-51349480014567592712016-02-07T13:27:00.000-05:002016-02-07T13:27:47.624-05:00Jacinda, This is For You (And Anyone Else Who's Reading Along)I don't think you ever saw "before", so we'll start there. You know we took a long weekend to NC, and accidentally bought a house. It needed love - still does need more love, but it's coming along. If it hadn't been for Rebekah it would be some slow going. Thanks to her help the biggest things that needed doing right away (carpet, paint) are done. The bigger things, like a new kitchen and removing a wall, adding lighting, changing up the footprint a bit - those things will wait for a year. For now I want it to be as pretty as it can be, and then I can take my time and live in it and decide how I want it to be in the end.<br />Without further ado, I present the "before":<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5woPIG3_lCk/Vrd8Q2xj4OI/AAAAAAAANig/G4e5wsLi0Gs/s1600/136%2Bbrookfield%2Bbig%2Bbath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5woPIG3_lCk/Vrd8Q2xj4OI/AAAAAAAANig/G4e5wsLi0Gs/s320/136%2Bbrookfield%2Bbig%2Bbath.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;This is the "big bathroom". I initially wanted to paint out the cabinets, but you'll see later that a little hardware and a new color really made a huge difference. It's kind of a bummer that you can't see the whole wall - the light bar was a 1980's classic brass with 5 round lights. I fixed that just about first thing. It's a totally changed space now.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E72mwXT4p9k/Vrd8Q_a8HvI/AAAAAAAANik/TGkuwDrvn34/s1600/136%2Bbrookfield%2Bden%2Bbuilt%2Bin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E72mwXT4p9k/Vrd8Q_a8HvI/AAAAAAAANik/TGkuwDrvn34/s320/136%2Bbrookfield%2Bden%2Bbuilt%2Bin.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Den/living room. The fireplace is to the left, just out of frame. The hallway ahead leads into the bedrooms. It's really nice to be able to close off the sleeping area from the living area.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vgtscsR-lqw/Vrd8Q-bI-hI/AAAAAAAANic/2_VsGw9rZ3M/s1600/136%2Bbrookfield%2Bdining.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vgtscsR-lqw/Vrd8Q-bI-hI/AAAAAAAANic/2_VsGw9rZ3M/s320/136%2Bbrookfield%2Bdining.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Dining room empty, after they'd moved out. There's a picture below of it with furniture in it. I am too tired to reorder these pictures!&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NRxl2aUg7zk/Vrd8RVfO5CI/AAAAAAAANio/EDxM0viF9sA/s1600/136%2Bbrookfield%2Bfpl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NRxl2aUg7zk/Vrd8RVfO5CI/AAAAAAAANio/EDxM0viF9sA/s320/136%2Bbrookfield%2Bfpl.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Den that I am making a living room. Behind the shooter is the kitchen. If you could pan left, you'd see a door to the deck. Nice little deck. I got it a pressure washer the other day, so when it's a bit warmer I can wash it up and coat it with something durable. It overlooks a wooded brook-ish space. The bugs and birds and such make a racket - it's SO peaceful and sweet! &nbsp;&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VaAHju0L6Ek/Vrd8RbD056I/AAAAAAAANis/4hn_mSKdmWU/s1600/136%2Bbrookfield%2Bkitchen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VaAHju0L6Ek/Vrd8RbD056I/AAAAAAAANis/4hn_mSKdmWU/s320/136%2Bbrookfield%2Bkitchen.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;1963 called...they want their kitchen back. And I can't wait to send it along. Look familiar? Shades of Last Owned House, but with less Eau de Schnauzer. Built in cabinets, all too tall for me. Can't wait to get rid of this and start over. For now it just got a facelift.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KEUx6ACWr5c/Vrd8RTNnHvI/AAAAAAAANiw/w__XO0sqacQ/s1600/136%2Bbrookfield%2Bliv%2Brm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KEUx6ACWr5c/Vrd8RTNnHvI/AAAAAAAANiw/w__XO0sqacQ/s320/136%2Bbrookfield%2Bliv%2Brm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;This was a formal living room - now it's just a big empty. It's going to be a dining room and an entry space in the future. Right now it's just empty/full of boxes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JE1SJshPTIk/Vrd8Rt5Yq0I/AAAAAAAANi0/LcqxRNsDhgg/s1600/136%2Bbrookfield%2Blr%2Bby%2Bkitchen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JE1SJshPTIk/Vrd8Rt5Yq0I/AAAAAAAANi0/LcqxRNsDhgg/s320/136%2Bbrookfield%2Blr%2Bby%2Bkitchen.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Into the dining room from the kitchen...the table is back north, so for now this room is really a holding area for painted cabinet doors and craft room stuff.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pWN-O0tVLCo/Vrd8Rhn6vZI/AAAAAAAANi4/EiB91A7QgDo/s1600/136%2Bbrookfield%2Blr%2Bfr%2Bdoor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pWN-O0tVLCo/Vrd8Rhn6vZI/AAAAAAAANi4/EiB91A7QgDo/s320/136%2Bbrookfield%2Blr%2Bfr%2Bdoor.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Front entry - the closet to the left is on the deletion list. It will come out with the wall it's attached to - there's an "after" picture below that shows the wall from the living room side.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tLTNeaVpoLo/Vrd8Ru_bHZI/AAAAAAAANi8/YDajsc7Qfm8/s1600/136%2Bbrookfield%2Bmaster%2Bbr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tLTNeaVpoLo/Vrd8Ru_bHZI/AAAAAAAANi8/YDajsc7Qfm8/s320/136%2Bbrookfield%2Bmaster%2Bbr.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;The Master bedroom...very Carolina Blue, and looking tiny.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V2CukZcP6Mw/Vrd8RxgfR3I/AAAAAAAANjA/-B0mljSjq80/s1600/IMG_9383.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V2CukZcP6Mw/Vrd8RxgfR3I/AAAAAAAANjA/-B0mljSjq80/s1600/IMG_9383.jpg" /></a></div>This is the house itself. Mr. Wonderful always wanted a full brick house - now he's got one! The shutters need some work, and I want to pop color on the front door. I haven't decided what just yet. I am going to replace the solid door with one with some glass. First, it will bring more light into the entry/dining room area, and second I'll be able to see who's here. It also needs new light fixtures. The ones there are quite old and small. I want something with more presence, and more wattage.<br /><div style="text-align: center;">So now I assume you're slightly curious about the "after". Really it is the "in progress", because there is still much, much to do. For now, it's livable and much cuter. Ready?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-seduCHxG0K8/VreBLEp238I/AAAAAAAANjU/qekIRL48QZc/s1600/DSCF3952.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-seduCHxG0K8/VreBLEp238I/AAAAAAAANjU/qekIRL48QZc/s320/DSCF3952.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;This is the dining room, where nothing has changed except that the carpet is GONE and my plants are wallowing in southern exposure. It's become a staging area for boxes and such, sort of a catch all area. I am very glad we didn't wait and move everything at once.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--IhW-U9VIMQ/VreBLeVvarI/AAAAAAAANjY/nL9BjA1buAU/s1600/DSCF3953.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--IhW-U9VIMQ/VreBLeVvarI/AAAAAAAANjY/nL9BjA1buAU/s320/DSCF3953.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Living room with a facelift. When we pull out the kitchen and a wall and rejig the entry, the paneling will come down in here. For now, it has been transformed with color. Totally changes the feeling of the space. I have taken two shelves out of the built-in, and my plan is to finish it as an entertainment center. It's in process. I need an electrician for a couple of things, one of them is running an outlet into the built in so there's no visible cords on the outside.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mG3fdr3OXlk/VreBLTkdjGI/AAAAAAAANjc/fsCYH-XfNsM/s1600/DSCF3954.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mG3fdr3OXlk/VreBLTkdjGI/AAAAAAAANjc/fsCYH-XfNsM/s320/DSCF3954.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Kitchen, phase one...the doors will go up this week. We wanted them up before Rebekah left so she could see it, but time just ran out. I am resting today (and blogging!) so it's on the menu for tomorrow. NONE of the old hinge holes are usable because I am swapping out the hardware. So I am in for a fun, fun time. Luckily, the door and drawer pulls go on easy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wg1nUX8-5CE/VreBMFTGhNI/AAAAAAAANjg/8Z1VUIJzEKI/s1600/DSCF3955.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wg1nUX8-5CE/VreBMFTGhNI/AAAAAAAANjg/8Z1VUIJzEKI/s320/DSCF3955.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;This is just my orchids. I got them at Ikea for cheap. They make me happy. And my crock pot, currently full of curry, because I can - Gene hates the stuff!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pwztslvzQc8/VreBMWLoCOI/AAAAAAAANjk/tdd3gN7ByGM/s1600/DSCF3957.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pwztslvzQc8/VreBMWLoCOI/AAAAAAAANjk/tdd3gN7ByGM/s320/DSCF3957.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Another view of the fireplace - I love it so much. I had thought to cover it, paint it, re-tile it; something. But now that the wall color has changed, it pops and I won't change a thing except to add a gas or electric insert at some point. We won't burn here. Snakes love woodpiles, and snake here doesn't always mean cute little garter or corn snake.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8J7ezCq5CVk/VreBMn2fCZI/AAAAAAAANjo/00Y1XHCGH-E/s1600/DSCF3958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8J7ezCq5CVk/VreBMn2fCZI/AAAAAAAANjo/00Y1XHCGH-E/s320/DSCF3958.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;Closer shot of the built-in in progress. Gene may have to get a bigger tv now to fill the space. I am sure he will be heart broken...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DIqFDX5apnU/VreBM7DHzzI/AAAAAAAANjs/hoMJXwFXbI4/s1600/DSCF3959.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DIqFDX5apnU/VreBM7DHzzI/AAAAAAAANjs/hoMJXwFXbI4/s320/DSCF3959.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;Guest room - this was white and now is peachy. These floors are almost everywhere n the house, under all the carpet. Most are in AMAZING shape. I have some scrubbing of old paint in spots, but they mopped up beautifully on the first pass.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TjKsgXXGc3k/VreBNJo-gqI/AAAAAAAANjw/87oqYD-8AHk/s1600/DSCF3960.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TjKsgXXGc3k/VreBNJo-gqI/AAAAAAAANjw/87oqYD-8AHk/s320/DSCF3960.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Office/Craft/Stamp room - this is the worst floor, and I am just going to leave it. Between our work chairs rolling all over, dogs scratching, my own potential paint and glue spills, it doesn't make sense to put money into this floor. I wanted to spatter paint it with all the colors from the rest of the house, and then poly it...but Rebekah convinced me not to. Kind of wish I had just done it, really! &nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a2C4EpTkNkc/VreBNidrOSI/AAAAAAAANj0/Z5VdgluQoqU/s1600/DSCF3962.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a2C4EpTkNkc/VreBNidrOSI/AAAAAAAANj0/Z5VdgluQoqU/s320/DSCF3962.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Master bedroom - still blue, but more like heron or hazy beach day. The linens and furniture will change this - for now it's just all gray velvet drapes and camel colored old bedding. The duvet is coming! The duvet is coming! And I can't wait to hang our art here.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ewzFyiao96A/VreBNrEAvQI/AAAAAAAANj4/sPmDFk1ZJVA/s1600/DSCF3966.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ewzFyiao96A/VreBNrEAvQI/AAAAAAAANj4/sPmDFk1ZJVA/s320/DSCF3966.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Big bathroom - total transformation with such simple steps! We painted it green, changed out the hardware, and changed the lighting fixture. I no longer feel the need to paint the vanity. This bathroom can sit as it is for a few years now. Initially it made me twitchy. Now I love it.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JbKsxKBw2kA/VreBN13DWpI/AAAAAAAANj8/JFKNYhfNvSg/s1600/DSCF3967.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JbKsxKBw2kA/VreBN13DWpI/AAAAAAAANj8/JFKNYhfNvSg/s320/DSCF3967.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">See, just pretty. I LOVE the mirror, love the new lighting, and love that the hardware saved me from a long painting job. I took out almost all of the brass hardware, towel bar stuff. The toilet paper holder appears to have been attached with super glue, so it's staying. Luckily I can't really see it most of the time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y7iH5wtaYnE/VreBObB3OcI/AAAAAAAANkA/dUgRp6lqhzs/s1600/DSCF3968.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y7iH5wtaYnE/VreBObB3OcI/AAAAAAAANkA/dUgRp6lqhzs/s320/DSCF3968.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;Boys! And living room toward kitchen. To the left is the wall destined for deletion. The wall ahead is what the cabinets will look like when I get the doors on!&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FR9-YaxpOXE/VreBOzFMuDI/AAAAAAAANkE/gNeaXDhzmOE/s1600/DSCF3969.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FR9-YaxpOXE/VreBOzFMuDI/AAAAAAAANkE/gNeaXDhzmOE/s320/DSCF3969.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Another look at the fireplace. I should have shut the shades. I have curtains and hardware, but I am not sure I want to hang them because I love the light. There's so little space on either side of the windows that I am afraid curtains will choke out the sun.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-78xzMnZ0iKQ/VreBPPGzNHI/AAAAAAAANkM/dOpYdR98hyQ/s1600/DSCF3970.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-78xzMnZ0iKQ/VreBPPGzNHI/AAAAAAAANkM/dOpYdR98hyQ/s320/DSCF3970.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This wall straight ahead, and the closet visible just beyond it are totally going. We will carry the hardwood from the dining/entry through the whole rest of the living space, create an entry space, and reno the kitchen. Just not this minute! If you look closely at this picture, you may notice something...new....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NlVjIK6Q9u0/VreBO8uvSCI/AAAAAAAANkI/QxQSU8Ob8J8/s1600/Violet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="294" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NlVjIK6Q9u0/VreBO8uvSCI/AAAAAAAANkI/QxQSU8Ob8J8/s320/Violet.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This is Violet (formerly Priscilla...I changed that). I went to PetSmrt one day and accidentally came home with a cat. Rebekah loves her. Yoshi loves her. Bradley is just scared of her, and won't make eye contact with her. He stands with his head down and shivers a little if she gets close.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So, in a biggish nutshell, that's where we are at. Now for a little "memorable days" action, because you don't do the Facebook...&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6DgMGV4KE5Y/VreDT5P7cdI/AAAAAAAANkY/lhrVsIfq1tU/s1600/12594023_1514937068837180_1996786911260650957_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6DgMGV4KE5Y/VreDT5P7cdI/AAAAAAAANkY/lhrVsIfq1tU/s320/12594023_1514937068837180_1996786911260650957_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This was the day we discovered what was under the (old and really gross) carpet. It was a very, very good day. And for the most part, they all look this good!&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_ZvDrSr4Yxs/VreDT-FpMdI/AAAAAAAANkU/MlV7k8fJ9qQ/s1600/12615433_1518658318465055_6511254553957127465_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_ZvDrSr4Yxs/VreDT-FpMdI/AAAAAAAANkU/MlV7k8fJ9qQ/s320/12615433_1518658318465055_6511254553957127465_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This was the day I accidentally got a cat. Or actually a couple of days after. We let her adjust to the chaos by sticking her in the big bathroom for a few days before she met the boys. &nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0DOs-uU2IQM/VreDT9hYnnI/AAAAAAAANkc/NrWUuH75AfE/s1600/12622073_1515528232111397_8160749100877355773_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0DOs-uU2IQM/VreDT9hYnnI/AAAAAAAANkc/NrWUuH75AfE/s320/12622073_1515528232111397_8160749100877355773_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This was the day we bought an awful lot of paint at Lowe's. That was a day where I questioned my sanity. That's a lot of paint.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dx9x7Fc4CTE/VreDUPdZ_bI/AAAAAAAANkk/QYeBUQLEFHk/s1600/12622459_1513820335615520_6396087607128718225_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dx9x7Fc4CTE/VreDUPdZ_bI/AAAAAAAANkk/QYeBUQLEFHk/s320/12622459_1513820335615520_6396087607128718225_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;The day of these guys!! So, we were supposed to leave on a Friday, but then there was snow coming in, so we wanted to leave Wednesday. Problem was I'd gotten food poisoning on Sunday night and was still on rice and broth. Walt, Cindy, Rachel, Nathan and Rebekah came out on Wednesday morning and stuffed the truck. That meant Gene could work as much as possible to make up for the two days early departure. We left MA around 3pm Wednesday and drove till about 10, staying the night in PA, then drove to NC Thursday. We got here after dark. Our across the street neighbor was in our driveway before the truck was parked. I love him. He gave us directions to a Food Lion so Rebekah and I could shop before the storm. Once it started, everything stopped. Nothing was open, the roads were covered in ice and sleet. No plows, no sand, no salt after the initial "brine" that washed away in the first hour of the storm. It was an adventure, to be sure!&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m0FUEfvIJ0A/VreDUZfndAI/AAAAAAAANkg/XdwTcg6cbpA/s1600/12640509_1520539878276899_5705893019028884186_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m0FUEfvIJ0A/VreDUZfndAI/AAAAAAAANkg/XdwTcg6cbpA/s320/12640509_1520539878276899_5705893019028884186_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The day I bought myself a lamp! I LOVE this. It's all mirrors and shells. Love love.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uLPJvLAXLH4/VreDUcQUpLI/AAAAAAAANko/UnpiOj4IXlw/s1600/12646623_1518656605131893_223320603147124274_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uLPJvLAXLH4/VreDUcQUpLI/AAAAAAAANko/UnpiOj4IXlw/s320/12646623_1518656605131893_223320603147124274_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The day I discovered that I probably should have stocked up on maple syrup before I left Dodge City.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rh8O3OQnK9Q/VreDUk74nlI/AAAAAAAANks/7GXFVCMe1zg/s1600/12646862_1517134231950797_2214505334329946084_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rh8O3OQnK9Q/VreDUk74nlI/AAAAAAAANks/7GXFVCMe1zg/s320/12646862_1517134231950797_2214505334329946084_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The day the luck ran out in hardwood land. The kitchen and living room side are a mix of 90's-ish vinyl and this...stuff. :P It's in great shape. And I am gonna rip it right out and make it hardwood one of these days!&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7GXObmX-Rac/VreDU6bO7JI/AAAAAAAANkw/H02Nbb_5ZLk/s1600/12657319_1520915361572684_6360807426944384703_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7GXObmX-Rac/VreDU6bO7JI/AAAAAAAANkw/H02Nbb_5ZLk/s320/12657319_1520915361572684_6360807426944384703_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The day Violet got to see the rest of the house. She spent a couple of days in the bathroom, then a few more in the bedroom/hall area, and then was let loose. Curiosity, thy name is Violet.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Xd0Ba9kx8sw/VreDU_kgBKI/AAAAAAAANk4/MW9Pd6sM_j8/s1600/12657402_1519550741709146_3228936292498326804_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Xd0Ba9kx8sw/VreDU_kgBKI/AAAAAAAANk4/MW9Pd6sM_j8/s320/12657402_1519550741709146_3228936292498326804_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The day I realized we were commingling roller cages, lunch dishes, and putty knives, and I didn't even care one little bit. We JUST got here. And we've ripped 800 pounds of carpet and pad from 6 rooms, and prepped and painted six rooms. At this point, not much bothers me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PtNXfzMYZOQ/VreDVMehhNI/AAAAAAAANk0/0dZ4pcYT16s/s1600/12694829_1520349264962627_5979091514603861121_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PtNXfzMYZOQ/VreDVMehhNI/AAAAAAAANk0/0dZ4pcYT16s/s320/12694829_1520349264962627_5979091514603861121_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;The day these guys reminded me that they used to go for a walk EVERY DAY for THREE MILES, and hadn't done that more than twice since we got here. I took them today. They were most pleased.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XuMdfK6jlgc/VreDVfJwKZI/AAAAAAAANk8/a5yJ19-W4zQ/s1600/12698435_1521336364863917_8780654513317788949_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XuMdfK6jlgc/VreDVfJwKZI/AAAAAAAANk8/a5yJ19-W4zQ/s320/12698435_1521336364863917_8780654513317788949_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The day that Yoshi admitted that he loves his kitty. We've referred to her as "your kitty" since she got here, and I am convinced that he believes she's really his. Brad remains terrified.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">That's the update in a really big nutshell. It's been amazing and fast and hard work. Rebekah is gone, and I've slowed down a bit. Still getting a lot done, just at a more controlled pace because now I have the time. The big stuff is done - big furniture bought and assembled, big carpet and paint jobs done. Now it's stuff I can do alone - put the cabinet doors back on, I did pop in a bit of trim on one wall where the carpet removal revealed a big gap between the floor and the wall, I still have the office/craft room to finish up with shelves and the addition of my stuff, and curtains to hang. Then I can move on to repainting shutters and cleaning up the yard. I'm hoping to get chicks, but they need a shed, and am hoping to build a pedestal for the washer and dryer we just bought. And a garden - we need to decide where it is going to go, and break some ground SOON, before it's tomato time! Comes early here.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">More as we go along, but for now, this is where I am at - and I am thrilled to be here!&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D19093186%23editor%2Fsrc%3Dsidebar&amp;media=https%3A%2F%2F2.bp.blogspot.com%2F-5woPIG3_lCk%2FVrd8Q2xj4OI%2FAAAAAAAANig%2FG4e5wsLi0Gs%2Fs320%2F136%252Bbrookfield%252Bbig%252Bbath.jpg&amp;xm=h&amp;xv=sa1.37.01&amp;xuid=utME2ZxMVXtK&amp;description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 193px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 162px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D19093186%23editor%2Fsrc%3Dsidebar&amp;media=https%3A%2F%2F2.bp.blogspot.com%2F-5woPIG3_lCk%2FVrd8Q2xj4OI%2FAAAAAAAANig%2FG4e5wsLi0Gs%2Fs320%2F136%252Bbrookfield%252Bbig%252Bbath.jpg&amp;xm=h&amp;xv=sa1.37.01&amp;xuid=utME2ZxMVXtK&amp;description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 193px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 162px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D19093186%23editor%2Fsrc%3Dsidebar&amp;media=https%3A%2F%2F2.bp.blogspot.com%2F-5woPIG3_lCk%2FVrd8Q2xj4OI%2FAAAAAAAANig%2FG4e5wsLi0Gs%2Fs320%2F136%252Bbrookfield%252Bbig%252Bbath.jpg&amp;xm=h&amp;xv=sa1.37.01&amp;xuid=utME2ZxMVXtK&amp;description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 193px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 162px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D19093186%23editor%2Fsrc%3Dsidebar&amp;media=https%3A%2F%2F2.bp.blogspot.com%2F-5woPIG3_lCk%2FVrd8Q2xj4OI%2FAAAAAAAANig%2FG4e5wsLi0Gs%2Fs320%2F136%252Bbrookfield%252Bbig%252Bbath.jpg&amp;xm=h&amp;xv=sa1.37.01&amp;xuid=utME2ZxMVXtK&amp;description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 193px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 162px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a>Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-27534008240828817322015-11-10T08:42:00.000-05:002015-11-10T08:42:57.395-05:00Punishment or Consequence?About two years ago now, I think it was, I walked into my doctor's office just a month shy of my first 5K race with a calf about 10cm bigger than it's nearest neighbor, and a pain that went from what I called my hip down to my foot; sometimes sharp, sometimes numb, always there and always uncomfortable. My calf was particularly painful, waking me up in the middle of the night. I'd start every morning limping, then force myself to keep a stable gait as I headed out for a run. The run would be a limping disaster. I'd crawl home, blaming myself for this obvious weakness of personality or character that made me too wimpy to run. Before this happened, I was averaging 8-9 minutes a mile on a lazy day - not bad for an old lady new to the sport, who'd spent her whole life insisting running was torture, only to discover it's really near-heaven when those endorphins kick in. I was proud of what I'd done - I was a couch to 5K success, and I had plans, baby, plans! First a 5K, then 10, then the World (literally, Disney Princess Half Marathon, which I thought would be a fantastic birthday present to myself). My doctor, a former runner herself, shook her head and said "You've got a pretty severe calf strain, and some problems with your SI joint...this one feels loose, and that's probably putting pressure on your sciatic nerve which is causing the leg pain...or it could be priformis...." She drifted off and looked kind of sad, which made me say the words I needed to say - "Can I run again?"<br /><br />The answer, she strongly felt, was no. &nbsp;She referred me for pt and recommended I learn to swim, which I did. I swam a mile or two a day for over a year, until we moved here (where the pool at my gym just doesn't do it for me). But when she said "No" to running, although I think I heard it, and I know I SAID it out loud to more than one person (including, but not limited to, a drunken sob-fest in my back yard around a fire in which I begged my daughter in law to run "for me, because you can..."), I really didn't accept it. I sought alternatives. I rested and iced and compressed and elevated. Over and over. I went through a course of PT. I saw a host of people from spine to sports med and back again. I was x-rayed, prodded, poked, MRI'd, and massaged. I did two rounds of pt, following the instructions to a T. Every now and then I'd throw a run into a walk, just a short jog. Or on vacation I would run from coaster to coaster. Or maybe find an excuse to run across a parking lot. Anything to try. Every time I'd get hit with pain, and every time I'd tell myself I was an idiot. Stupid. Slow learner. Any negative thing I could throw at me.<br /><br />Then came the bargaining with God: "Lord, just let me run, and I'll do whatever you want. I don't even want to win. I just want to run." or "Why can't I run? Is it because my running doesn't glorify You? Then show me HOW to do that, and I will! ANYTHING!! JUST LET ME RUN!!". This, of course, then turns into the self-loathing voice of the enemy "You suck. That's why God won't let you run. Because you are a horrible human being, and not worthy of running. You suck. You're weak. You're worthless. That's why."<br /><br />Over and over and over.<br /><br />I've sat on the hill here and watched the end of 5K's with a rock of bitterness in my heart. I've thought mean things about women who look about my age who run by, all thin and smiling. I wanted to smack them, steal their shoes, and RUN AWAY. RUN. Just let me RUN, GOD <b>WHY CAN'T I RUN?</b><br /><br />All this time it's been about punishment. I have, obviously, pissed God off SO much and He is SO mad at me that He is going to just stab me in the ass (literally) and chew on my calf until I have been punished thoroughly. Because it's all about me, and all about my failures, and all about my weakness of character.<br /><br />But.<br /><br />What if I am wrong? What if there's a bigger purpose to my NOT running than to my running? What if my not-running has led me down a path that I never otherwise would have followed, and brought me to people and places I never would have come to know? What if I'd never met Ann at the Y in Greenfield, who's 83 and mostly blind and swims every day? Or John, my favorite life guard? Or Marcia, who's Dad was also a Mason, and who taught me to swim in the first place? What if I'd never been compelled by the lack of running to fill the space with strength training and dancing lessons, and met Caitlan at the gym and Angel at dancing school? I love those people and I love that I've met them.<br /><br />This weekend Gene and I were slated to walk <a href="http://www.seeplymouth.com/events/grumpys-cranberry-harvest-5k-runwalk-0">Grumpy's Cranberry Harvest 5K</a>. And when I say walk, I mean walk. I was all prepared to avoid temptation. I chose a "race" that had a clear "walker-friendly" vibe. I ate a big breakfast, and drank coffee, and topped that with the cranberry chocolate bar out of my swag bag just before we started. I never eat before I run. I wore my super baggy pants and enough layers for a fall morning walk - but WAY too many for a run. I wore my weakest, lamest sports bra. I took Gene with me - a man who's life motto is "Gene No Run". We crossed the start line and I was set in my head for a relaxed 5K walk. No big. I can do this.<br /><br />But then the day seemed too perfect, and the substrate was so blissful (soft dirt and sand, not concrete or blacktop which have particularly been forbidden me) and I thought "Maybe I can get Gene to just jog a little...not a <i>real</i> run...". I pointed out this little kid that was ahead of us and said "We can totally take him if we just <i>jog</i> a little...." We alternated jogging and walking, passing specific targets.. Girl with pony tail. Lady in tutu. And so on. Each time I'd think I should stop, there'd be another target on the horizon, one more person to pass. This went on until I felt a familiar snap and a sharp zing from my calf up to my butt , or from my butt to my calf - one or the other or both? Calf strain, or sciatica? Who knows. I slowed to a walk. I walked backward up the hill toward the end.<br /><br />As we approached the line I just couldn't do it - I let go and I ran. Not full throttle, but enough to send my leg into a very dark place. I crossed the line, walked around a little, and laid down on the pavement to try and stretch out my SI joint, relieving the pressure on the piriformis, and sending sensations of a slightly better nature down to my foot. Sunday I checked my calf &nbsp;- only a half a centimeter bigger than it's neighbor. Since then I've rested, cancelled plans for a long drive, stretched, foam rolled, stretched some more, strength trained the things that didn't irritate it, and so on. It will be a week or so before I feel up to a full 3 mile walk with the boys, if I am careful. It will be longer before I have any desire to sit for more than five minutes! So now I pay the fiddler for my short, short dance in the November sunshine.<br /><br />I've pondered gratitude a lot since Saturday. I am so grateful for having been there, proud for having tried, thrilled that Gene jogged with me a little (even if Gene No Run). It was a beautiful day, and I am so grateful to God for it. Maybe a little bitter watching women my age smile and laugh and take their prizes, knowing that a couple of years ago I ran that fast if I worked at it, knowing I could have at least kept pace with them, but mostly, overall, grateful.<br /><br />This morning as we headed out for our walk, about half of our usual 3 mile loop, I warned the boys that it would be a short one. I said, out loud, "Sorry, boys, but mommy was stupid Saturday, and now she's got to pay for that."<br /><br />And I heard a still small voice inside of me, the one I have come to recognize as God, whisper "No. Mommy <i>challenged</i> herself this weekend, and now she is experiencing the <i>consequences</i> of that."<br /><br />It is amazing how God can, in one millisecond, change years of wrong perspective. I'm not being punished. <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=John+15">I'M BEING GROWN!</a>Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-31885042519820817282015-10-12T11:00:00.000-04:002015-10-12T11:00:04.838-04:00Playing Tourist Again<span style="font-family: inherit;">First I wish to announce that&nbsp;the winner of the FREE copy of Judith Durant's One Skein Wonders for Babies book is.... Nadine Foster! (thank you <a href="https://www.random.org/">random number generator</a>!) I will be on touch soon to get your details so I can ship it out to you. Congratulations, and enjoy knitting for the wee ones in your life!&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">We decided before we came here that we would take every opportunity of stuffing ourselves with as much of Massachusetts as we possibly could, knowing that we will probably move on from here to places unknown. And having never lived in the eastern part of the state, there's a lot of things we've never seen or done that I've always wanted to see and/or do.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">For example, I have always wanted to see a cranberry harvest. I have seen them on television before, but that's just not the same as BEING there.</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">This weekend was Columbus Day weekend, and there were festivals and celebrations a-plenty. &nbsp;At the Cranberry Harvest Festival, hosted by <a href="http://admakepeace.com/">A.D. Make peace Company</a>&nbsp;(the world's largest cranberry grower!), there were activities, samples, crafters, and food trucks galore! There was live music, and a ton of things for kids to do from free pony rides to dry harvesting of cranberries and making your own take-home "bog in a cup". For bigger kids there were beer and wine tastings, and helicopter tours for a reasonable $50 per adult. The event encompasses two areas - the Frogfoot bog where the harvesting takes place, and the farm where the majority of vendors were camped out.&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">After we paid our $10 per adult entry fee, we followed the map to the bus loading area bound for the bog. We boarded old-school yellow buses (flashback!) and headed into the unknown (or the woods, whichever). After a short ride we popped off of the bus outside of a barn containing a variety of cranberry related merchandise and a display of the photography of Robert "Grumpy" Conway. Conway was a longtime employee of the A.D. Make peace Company, and a nature lover and amateur photographer. There is even a race held annually in his honor - </span><a href="https://racewire.com/register.php?id=5639" style="font-family: inherit;">Grumpy's Harvest 5K Walk/Run </a><span style="font-family: inherit;">- the proceeds of which go to&nbsp;</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">the Cranberry Educational Foundation's Scholarship Fund.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">&nbsp;We bought some fresh raw cranberries - two pounds of them. They look amazing. It's not&nbsp;like I haven't seen cranberries before. I mean, I was born and reared in Massachusetts. But these berries look NOTHING like the ones found in the produce department in November.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u6jtY26hU_Q/VhmMzEcfnoI/AAAAAAAAJi4/JtyRrF0tbIQ/s1600/DSCF3705.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u6jtY26hU_Q/VhmMzEcfnoI/AAAAAAAAJi4/JtyRrF0tbIQ/s320/DSCF3705.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">They are full and bright and bursting with goodness. I can't wait to make them into something, although I have developed a habit for them au natural now, too. I ate about a cup of them by the end of the bog&nbsp;</span>experience<span style="font-family: inherit;">.</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The&nbsp;Frogfoot Bog area hosts a bunch of&nbsp;activities and educational&nbsp;opportunities. We started with a ride around a bog in a tractor-drawn trailer; think hay-ride sans hay.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pT5I1pjp700/VhmMzxgSiHI/AAAAAAAAJjI/Wiq2WAnZI6g/s1600/DSCF3716.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pT5I1pjp700/VhmMzxgSiHI/AAAAAAAAJjI/Wiq2WAnZI6g/s320/DSCF3716.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">We got a great education about the berries and their history - cranberries are native to Massachusetts - about as native as it gets. The&nbsp;Wampanoag's taught the Europeans about them. They were essential as a food source, and were recognized&nbsp;medicinally as well. There are bogs in Massachusetts that have vines that are as old as 150 years. &nbsp;A farmer rarely has to start a new bog in this&nbsp;</span>part<span style="font-family: inherit;">&nbsp;of the country, because the vines and bogs are well established. The berry requires specific conditions to grow, both in terms of the substrate they prefer to the climate, and while Massachusetts may be the home of the cranberry, they are now grown as far away as Canada and Oregon - although we, of course, still grow the majority of them.</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bogs are not water-filled during the growing season, and the berries do not grow in water. Rather, the water is allowed to flow into the bogs for harvest, so that the fruit can be parted from their vine hosts, and then the berries are rounded up and floated, then pulled into a giant vacuum (for lack of a better term).&nbsp;</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Eb3eCYX8mcc/VhmMwbrNimI/AAAAAAAAJho/5GWuCjfr4qw/s1600/DSCF3677.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Eb3eCYX8mcc/VhmMwbrNimI/AAAAAAAAJho/5GWuCjfr4qw/s320/DSCF3677.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">The water from that bog is then drained to the next, and the process is repeated. As the berries are lifted from the water by vacuum and hoisted onto a&nbsp;</span>conveyor<span style="font-family: inherit;">&nbsp;system, the water from the process is returned to the bog.&nbsp;</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Kf2mi5tpkkg/VhmMxGCrctI/AAAAAAAAJh0/eCi6gn0M05Q/s1600/DSCF3680.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Kf2mi5tpkkg/VhmMxGCrctI/AAAAAAAAJh0/eCi6gn0M05Q/s320/DSCF3680.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">I&nbsp;was surprised by the water conservation involved in cranberry harvest. Rather than "flushing it all down the can" so to speak, the machinery is all arranged in a way, and the bank&nbsp;tarped, so that as much water returns to the bog as possible.&nbsp;</span><br /><br />I love the process - berries released from their moorings, rounded up and sucked up, conveyed up and into waiting trucks, and on and on until the bog is empty and the next ready to be filled with water and beaten. My favorite part probably involved the handfuls of cranberries I got to munch down.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TVUSmYYhB1s/VhmMxG05lfI/AAAAAAAAJiI/CbpXA1uwp0A/s1600/DSCF3683.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TVUSmYYhB1s/VhmMxG05lfI/AAAAAAAAJiI/CbpXA1uwp0A/s320/DSCF3683.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I've decided I like them better than raw rhubarb, and I like raw rhubarb pretty well. Maybe it's a tie.<br /><br />Today, the conveyor - tomorrow a can of cranberry sauce on your Thanksgiving table. Thank your farmers. The guy who led our tour sells half of his berries to Ocean Spray and half to a farmer's co-operative. Literally, I may have seen berries that Gene will be snarfing down from a can in a few weeks. He does love his cranberry sauce (canned, jellied - not whole berry - and with the understanding that one can is one portion).<br /><br />After we watched the wet harvest operation we took a short break for lunch. I had a disappointing cup of indifferent soup that tasted less like butternut and more like leftover macaroni and cheese. I ditched it after the first couple of bites. But I did get free Crasin samples from Ocean Spray, and a sample of their new cranberry tangerine juice.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZCLMUPyPJTc/VhmMx1aqWII/AAAAAAAAJiQ/BsVQ1-IEfBM/s1600/DSCF3689.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZCLMUPyPJTc/VhmMx1aqWII/AAAAAAAAJiQ/BsVQ1-IEfBM/s320/DSCF3689.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>And Gene had a fried sausage with peppers and onions.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uOsHTtZEcO8/VhmMxwW4wXI/AAAAAAAAJiU/z3Bn_XamMMI/s1600/DSCF3690.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uOsHTtZEcO8/VhmMxwW4wXI/AAAAAAAAJiU/z3Bn_XamMMI/s320/DSCF3690.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Sometimes being an 80% vegetarian and 100% gluten free stinks - today was one of those times. At festivals I have a hard time finding anything other than french fries. No gluten, no meat...way too confusing. I am always glad when Gene pulls out the kettle corn.<br /><br />Did I mention the free samples? Ocean Spray was giving away a stack of sample sized bags of various dried cranberry based snacks. Love a freebie. AND you got to build your "bog in a cup" here, too, layering rock and sand and adding a sprig of cranberry vine on top.<br /><br />Also, Bigelow Tea was there with their <a href="https://www.bigelowtea.com/Special-Pages/Bigelow-Mobile-Tea-Bar/Tour-Schedule">Big Tea Bar</a> handing out samples of hot tea and a bag to take home for later.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Hdb5Jkiq7ko/VhmMyNGiqgI/AAAAAAAAJiY/w0xA38Br1Cc/s1600/DSCF3694.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Hdb5Jkiq7ko/VhmMyNGiqgI/AAAAAAAAJiY/w0xA38Br1Cc/s320/DSCF3694.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I got the Thin Mint tea (tastes just like the cookie!) and Gene got his favorite Pomegranate Green. I also tweeted from their and won a prize - a "tea-shirt"!<br /><br />Then we went and saw dry harvesting - or more accurately, participated in dry harvesting.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cCMFxrVY-yg/VhmMyjapVCI/AAAAAAAAJio/rOmfEBxLIO0/s1600/DSCF3695.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cCMFxrVY-yg/VhmMyjapVCI/AAAAAAAAJio/rOmfEBxLIO0/s320/DSCF3695.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Most of the berries in the supermarket bags are harvested this way. Instead of flooding the bog with water, then beating and rounding up the berries, in dry harvesting they are pulled from the vines with rake-ended collection devices, sort of like the Maine blueberry harvesting tools of yore.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YT8TH5HglJ0/VhmMy7TsmHI/AAAAAAAAJjA/HZRV7b7k0Bo/s1600/DSCF3701.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YT8TH5HglJ0/VhmMy7TsmHI/AAAAAAAAJjA/HZRV7b7k0Bo/s320/DSCF3701.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We got to walk onto the bog, and experience dry harvest first hand. Kids loved this. I preferred to find a quiet spot and grab a handful and reflect on the humble berry that has probably saved countless lives, and assisted in the development of this country in ways we really don't fully appreciate.<br /><br />We returned to the farm via shuttle bus, and wandered among vendors and displays and demonstrations. <a href="https://www1.jwu.edu/">Johnson and Wales</a>&nbsp;gave cooking demonstrations. One chef made a lovely seasonal plate featuring short ribs, kale with cranberry and pecans, and a root veg puree with a lovely little butternut pickle that I really loved. I was too far back in the pack to get the kale. He also lauded the glories of the VitaMix, which I also adore - AND I found out that any pan that a magnet can stick to can be used on an induction burner. So if I wanted to experience induction, I can buy a single burner and slap my cast iron on it just to try it out. Tempting.<br /><br />We sampled some strange botanical teas from Vermont, a nice selection Vermont cheeses, and some wine from Westport Rivers Winery (may I recommend the <a href="https://store.westportrivers.com/2014-cinco-caes-p144.aspx">Cinco Caes</a>?). Then I found <a href="http://ripe./">RIPE.</a> They make craft juices. They also make <a href="https://www.drinkripe.com/">craft bar juice</a>. They were giving away sample bottles of both. As a general rule I do not drink juice. I don't like the extra wasted calories, I don't like that it usually is watered down or sugared up. This isn't that kind of juice. The cold pressed (never heated, never pasteurized, fresh, fresh, fresh) cranberry apple was just stunning and pure and fiberful and amazing. Madly in love. I also got a sample of 100% cranberry - nothing added! No sugar, just cranberry juice! We did get some Agave Margarita bar juice as well, but I've got no idea when we'll use it (we have 75-80 days, according to the website). We did taste a sample and it was pretty amazing, and there are recipes, both virgin and not so much virgin.<br /><br />In all this was just a really fun day, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. Between the free samples and the cran-u-cation, and the Johnson and Wales demo, and the oysters (I forgot about that - so there's these oysters around here from <a href="http://www.bigrockoyster.com/">Big Rock Oyster Co </a>in Harwich and they are just wicked freaking amazingly delicious and are probably the BEST oysters I have ever had in my life and I have eaten a lot of oysters - I've been stalking these guys at every festival and event all summer, and I got an invite to visit the farm and get a tour and learn to shuck!!) and the requisite kettle corn and sausage and pepper and onion thing (which has become a thing since Dad died and Gene now thinks it's his job to eat all the sausage that Dad would if he were still here) it was a really great day. If you're ever local to Wareham on Columbus Day weekend, I highly recommend it!<br /><br />Next post maybe there will be some knitting or at least something handcraft-y. It's fall here and so easy to get lost in the season. The last hurrah before the long winter ahead. We're told it snows less here. But after <a href="http://www.weather.com/news/news/new-england-boston-record-snow-tracker">last winter</a>, I am not sure I believe.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D19093186%23editor&amp;media=https%3A%2F%2F2.bp.blogspot.com%2F-Hdb5Jkiq7ko%2FVhmMyNGiqgI%2FAAAAAAAAJiY%2Fw0xA38Br1Cc%2Fs320%2FDSCF3694.jpg&amp;xm=h&amp;xv=sa1.37.01&amp;xuid=utME2ZxMVXtK&amp;description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 193px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 3164px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D19093186%23editor&amp;media=https%3A%2F%2F2.bp.blogspot.com%2F-Hdb5Jkiq7ko%2FVhmMyNGiqgI%2FAAAAAAAAJiY%2Fw0xA38Br1Cc%2Fs320%2FDSCF3694.jpg&amp;xm=h&amp;xv=sa1.37.01&amp;xuid=utME2ZxMVXtK&amp;description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 193px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 3164px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a>Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-45204217465805963272015-10-05T17:12:00.001-04:002015-10-05T17:14:15.429-04:00BOOK GIVEAWAY!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I am gonna give it away, yes I am, one copy of this sweet book from Storey Publishing, edited by Judith Durant, featuring a collection of charming, knittable patterns for babies and toddlers - all using just one skin of yarn!&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ez6VOT2YTkk/VhLlvrtpVQI/AAAAAAAAJWk/qMxV56wuUz8/s1600/622480_OneSkeinBabiesCover-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ez6VOT2YTkk/VhLlvrtpVQI/AAAAAAAAJWk/qMxV56wuUz8/s320/622480_OneSkeinBabiesCover-2.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />Because there was a mix-up in shipping, I have an extra copy of this adorable book. And while I had no intention of parting with my own copy, I am willing to let the second one go. So we will have a giveaway. This contest (if you can call it that) will end one week from today - Monday October 12 at 6pm EST. Comment on this post and one random winner will be drawn - one entry per reader, please! You have a week (and about 46 minutes). Comment away! And be sure to tell all your knitting friends, so they can have a chance as well!Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-32321584212386973102015-09-28T08:00:00.000-04:002015-09-28T08:00:07.248-04:00Babies, Babies, Babies.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I do love a good baby knit. So when Judith Durant and Storey Publishing came knocking, asking for submissions to her latest "101" book, I was all about it. Happily my submissions were chosen, which means I get a copy of the book to review, and I get to see my name in print again - always a fun thing - and YOU get to see this blog post in which I review "<a href="http://www.storey.com/prebook_detail.php?isbn=9781612124803&amp;cat=PreRelease">One Skein Wonders for Babies</a>"!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">First let's talk about me. I have two patterns in this book. The first is a lovely little sweater set called "Birthday Baby" that I designed with one of our grandbabies in mind. (FOUR! We have FOUR grandbabies now!). It's a pretty simple knit and would make an excellent gift for any new little one. It knits up quickly from the top down, and I personally love it. The basic design is my go-to for new babies, and I alter the pattern stitch on the body and sleeves as desired - for this occasion I chose a textured ribs sort of pattern, but you could change it up pretty easily to a lace pattern, or even a cable if you're using a solid colored yarn.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.storey.com/prebook_detail.php?isbn=9781612124803&amp;cat=PreRelease" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EV0QYC3i9t0/VgVZkhz9ShI/AAAAAAAAJFw/vklt0elAKik/s320/47_cGeneveHoffmanPhotography_BirthdayBaby_OneSkeinforBabies.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My second design for this book is "Wee Britches", a pair of (conveniently, for this purpose, color-coordinating) footless tights or pants. I find them adorable, a quick little knit, and so useful on their own, or for layering in colder weather. I sometimes knit a bootie into the leg to create footed tights, but for this incarnation there's no foot on the tights, just TOES! Who doesn't love baby toes?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.storey.com/prebook_detail.php?isbn=9781612124803&amp;cat=PreRelease"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IAa-R0pNHOM/VgVZkiEBU-I/AAAAAAAAJF0/1-w3JetFo84/s320/116_cGeneveHoffmanPhotography_WeeBritches_OneSkeinForBabies.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">&nbsp;Now about the book - true to the "One Skein" series, this book is conveniently sized, 287 pages long, and has a comprehensive glossary of knitting terms, and a useful chart of abbreviations inside the back cover. The patterns run a wide range and are organized into chapters - "Little Tops", "Little Bottoms" and so forth. But don't think it's just tops and bottoms - there's the sweetest little hats, some completely adorable toys, and a host of accessories and blankets.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.storey.com/prebook_detail.php?isbn=9781612124803&amp;cat=PreRelease"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hxFiKU95qqw/VgVZiWbwyoI/AAAAAAAAJFo/7iJEZ4NCyqg/s320/622480_OneSkeinBabiesCover-2.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you've got babies about, or have babies on the way, or just like to knit things for babies that may show up someday (because they're so fun to knit for!), this is a great little book to add to your knitting library. Like all of the One Skein books, the yarn commitment is low, which makes it perfect for those times when you're left pondering what to do with this or that single ball.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In other review-type news...It's not a secret that I am kind of an obsessive dog mom, is it? I mean, the boys are a huge part of my life. Last year when Gene was "out here" and I was "back there", a lot of my life revolved around these dogs. Some days they were my only reason to get up in the morning. Have to get up. Have to walk the boys. Have to get moving. Have to walk the boys. Walking the boys has it's ups, but it also has some downs. Last year I dropped a leash on an ice cold day when I couldn't feel my fingers. That led to the acquisition of a wide nylon belt that I could run the leash handles through so that there would be no more inadvertant dropping incidents. But that led to another issue - two leashes around my waist, one two feet longer than the other. Constant juggling and tangling and occasional tripping was the outcome. But then last week at a Scallop Festival in Bourne, I ran across <a href="http://www.theblackleash.com/">The Black Leash</a>, a small company that hand makes nautical rope leashes and horse leads, handcrafted leather products, and reflective collars. They had a double dog leash that I fell in love with. It looked a little bit like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z_kdrpyJXJY/VgVaTuncxSI/AAAAAAAAJGE/6rgGpnpjFpY/s1600/DSCF3601.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z_kdrpyJXJY/VgVaTuncxSI/AAAAAAAAJGE/6rgGpnpjFpY/s320/DSCF3601.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Except that the rope was thicker, and the leash latches were both swivel hooks of polished brass. I loved the idea, but I had reservations. Yoshi once managed to get the thumb press part of a convention leash latch open. I'd only had him for a couple of days, and I nearly lost him. He was torn - woods. New mom. Woods. New mom. It was a terrifying minute, and if a truck or car had come tearing down the road, he would have been gone. He did not like motor vehicles. Since then I refuse to walk him with a conventional swivel hook, preferring a trigger type mechanism - and even then I am edgy about it.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X66Alv428_U/VgVaTogANLI/AAAAAAAAJGY/JOqvSlJ7YBQ/s1600/DSCF3603.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X66Alv428_U/VgVaTogANLI/AAAAAAAAJGY/JOqvSlJ7YBQ/s320/DSCF3603.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">You may have figured out by now that I got a leash, right? I mean, all the pictures, it's kind of a dead giveaway. I got a leash all right - a custom leash, just for me, made to my specific needs! Bradley has a convention swivel hook of bronze - harder than iron! - and Yoshi... Yoshi has a <a href="http://www.kong.it/en/2-products/items/f1-carabiners/p98-frog-cable">high speed Kong Frog cable connector,</a> rated to suspend mountain climbers in thin air without dropping them.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: left;">One hopes this is sufficient to put my mind at rest.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SeL20zUvoZU/VgVaUZpCGKI/AAAAAAAAJGQ/ystPnxFHg-M/s1600/DSCF3606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SeL20zUvoZU/VgVaUZpCGKI/AAAAAAAAJGQ/ystPnxFHg-M/s320/DSCF3606.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">And it mostly is...now I can worry about his collar links snapping, instead. I LOVE this leash! I had it made 5' long, rather than 6' which is what a "normal sized" person might use. It has a second "handle" about halfway down so that I can grab them closer if I need to. The two separate leash ends work perfectly - Yoshi generally is on the inside and Brad on the outside as we walk. There is no tangling. The only problem I had, and it wasn't really a problem, just a user error, was when both boys were going potty....one finished, and I didn't realize that I needed to stop the "finished" dog from trotting off, dragging the "not yet done" dog off balance. But now that mommy has gotten smarter, we're well past that, and I simply. LOVE. This. Leash!&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I started knitting with the Plymouth Knitters Group, which meets once a week, and knits items for the&nbsp;<a href="http://www.plimoth.org/">Plimoth Plantation</a> interpreters - the folks who wander around the village in 17th century garb, speaking as if they'd just fallen off a boat from 1620. (For fun, ask them a question to which the answer is "zombies". The word didn't exist! It's fun to ask modern questions and get answers from a completely different time)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CkVuxGG_JWU/VgVaUoDGfMI/AAAAAAAAJGg/6ndsEddP5SQ/s1600/DSCF3609.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CkVuxGG_JWU/VgVaUoDGfMI/AAAAAAAAJGg/6ndsEddP5SQ/s320/DSCF3609.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I am knitting a waistcoat. The yarn is spun by Harrisville and is called <a href="http://www.plimoth.com/products/new-plimoth-worsted-wool-yarn?variant=1930041089">New Plimoth Worsted</a>&nbsp;and I love it.&nbsp;The patterns used to create garb for the 17th century village are from a book called "<a href="http://www.plimoth.com/products/knitted-garb-inspired-by-originals-designs-for-plimoth-plantation-and-beyond?variant=1706407297">Knitted Garb - Inspired by Originals: Designs for Plimoth Plantation and Beyond</a>". The book is a labor of love and a collaboration between The Weavers' Guild of Boston and The Greater Boston Knitting Guild. It included 12 patterns, ranging from stockings and garters to waistcoats and caps, mittens and gloves - everything a chilly Pilgrim might need for the beginning of a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_Ice_Age">mini ice age</a>. There are no knitting patterns as we know them from that time period, but there are some examples of garments or pieces of garments from which patterns had been extrapolated. This book brings those patterns together and standardizes the language, streamlines the directions, and makes the items knittable by a modern knitter.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OCqwcEqyERA/VgVaWKpJTvI/AAAAAAAAJHA/5xLcSBwiiBA/s1600/DSCF3618.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OCqwcEqyERA/VgVaWKpJTvI/AAAAAAAAJHA/5xLcSBwiiBA/s320/DSCF3618.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Today we are peacefully diffusing Young Living oils - Abundance and Envision. It's delicious in here, with a little breeze outside reminding me that summer is waning. Yoshi is resting at my feet and I am FINALLY knitting my Tilted Duster - Interweave 2007. That's how long I've held on to this yarn and pattern. Since 2007. And finally now I can make the thing - hopefully while there's still enough fall left to appreciate it.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-arLp8mJgYAY/VgVaVA7nITI/AAAAAAAAJGo/gAG1bH1z8Tw/s1600/DSCF3611.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-arLp8mJgYAY/VgVaVA7nITI/AAAAAAAAJGo/gAG1bH1z8Tw/s320/DSCF3611.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I am loving the pattern. Not sure how I feel about the yarn, and I think I would like to remake it in something plied. I am just not a single ply fan - unless we are talking about Silk Garden or Kureyon, but that's Noro and so falls into a different category. Noro is the exception to every rule.<br /><br />Hope you had an excellent weekend!<br /><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D19093186%23editor%2Fsrc%3Dsidebar&amp;media=https%3A%2F%2F4.bp.blogspot.com%2F-arLp8mJgYAY%2FVgVaVA7nITI%2FAAAAAAAAJGo%2FgAG1bH1z8Tw%2Fs320%2FDSCF3611.JPG&amp;xm=h&amp;xv=sa1.37.01&amp;xuid=utME2ZxMVXtK&amp;description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 42px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 3776px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D19093186%23editor%2Fsrc%3Dsidebar&amp;media=https%3A%2F%2F4.bp.blogspot.com%2F-arLp8mJgYAY%2FVgVaVA7nITI%2FAAAAAAAAJGo%2FgAG1bH1z8Tw%2Fs320%2FDSCF3611.JPG&amp;xm=h&amp;xv=sa1.37.01&amp;xuid=utME2ZxMVXtK&amp;description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 42px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 3776px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a>Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-60646159642978557572015-09-15T17:20:00.000-04:002015-09-16T09:53:18.601-04:00View and Re-ViewIt looks as if this is going to be book review month here at Ye Old Blog. It would have already started if I'd found my camera. If anyone sees my camera...give a shout, hey? Sorry in advance for the images - I am shooting with my phone for the time being!<br />As always, books that I review on this blog were given to me by the publisher but I will not review a book I don't like, or don't think has some relevance in the marketplace. If you see it here, it struck a chord with me. If I don't like them, I simply don't review them.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eKNRPpMHwAk/VflzuDOIi7I/AAAAAAAAIz8/dIqKePvFLuw/s1600/20150915_162250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eKNRPpMHwAk/VflzuDOIi7I/AAAAAAAAIz8/dIqKePvFLuw/s320/20150915_162250.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>First up is a new release from Running Press that will be available in October titled <i><a href="http://www.runningpress.com/book/knitless/9780762456642">Knitless</a>: 50 No-Knit, Stash-Busting Yarn Projects</i> by Laura McFadden, author of <i>1,000 Handmade Greetings </i>(and others). Of course, you probably don't need a book like this.&nbsp;I am sure that <i>none </i>of my readers have yarn they just <i>don't know what to do with</i>, right? I mean, we all know exactly what to do with yarn. Even those big baskets of partial balls, and the remainder skeins stuffed into the recycled comforter bags under the bed, right? Right! Of course we do. No? Me either... until now. Now we have options!<br /><br />With a wide range of projects, <i>Knitless</i> gives knitters (and others) a host of things to do with yarn, from the artistic and aesthetic, to the practical and functional - and in some cases a nice blend of both.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a7AVSwWGrMw/Vflz8GYbHSI/AAAAAAAAI0E/eKfeiXxIFNU/s1600/20150915_162345.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a7AVSwWGrMw/Vflz8GYbHSI/AAAAAAAAI0E/eKfeiXxIFNU/s320/20150915_162345.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Take this, for example - coasters! Practical and functional. Pretty and useful. I can get behind that! And it isn't like I don't have enough yarn to make this happen. I can see these as excellent gifts as well, in a basket for example with lots of yummy coffee samples and a couple of mugs...<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CvZmi4Mtd04/Vfl0AjYOV5I/AAAAAAAAI0M/0CM3Bdc1I4E/s1600/20150915_162327.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CvZmi4Mtd04/Vfl0AjYOV5I/AAAAAAAAI0M/0CM3Bdc1I4E/s320/20150915_162327.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Do you have piles of loose earrings sitting around in piles? I know I used to before I stopped wearing them. This is an excellent way to organize them and use up some yarn in the process - a customized piece using a simple frame that can easily be coordinated with any decor.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3LQSZGym_Eo/Vfl0MQRNXRI/AAAAAAAAI0c/kcn7hcaT5sA/s1600/20150915_162543.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3LQSZGym_Eo/Vfl0MQRNXRI/AAAAAAAAI0c/kcn7hcaT5sA/s320/20150915_162543.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Speaking of decor - custom art anyone? An excellent use for scraps - yarn painting. I love this idea!<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>But I really love this - probably my favorite in the book - a concentric circle rug created using paracord and yarn. I've been needing a new kitchen rug...and it isn't like I don't have any yarn with which to create this project! In fact I could probably make a whole new living room carpet out of these circles...<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3J7n1D4vlVc/Vfl0Eotk4II/AAAAAAAAI0U/iN02d3DZxuU/s1600/20150915_162358.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3J7n1D4vlVc/Vfl0Eotk4II/AAAAAAAAI0U/iN02d3DZxuU/s320/20150915_162358.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br />In most instances the yarn amounts are fairly small, making them perfect for those little balls left after completing of a project. Once you've filled all the empty glass jars in your house with random balls of this or that, and have run out of things to do, <i>Knitless</i> comes to the rescue with a wide range of projects for all skill levels and time investments, from wearable pieces to art pieces to functional items - I've just scratched the surface with the very few projects I've shown here.<br /><br />The directions for these projects are very clear, and templates are included where needed. Whether you are making your own suspension bridge side table (LOVE it!) or yarn bombing a bike (because why not!?), <i>Knitless </i>may be just the book to inspire you to set down your needles - just for a MINUTE, mind you - and let your yarn do something new and different!<br /><br />In all there are 50 uses for yarn divided into four chapters. The book is neatly sized at 208 pages, and handily paperback with flaps for page marking. Look for it in October - an excellent stocking stuffer idea!<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D19093186%23editor%2Fsrc%3Dsidebar&amp;media=https%3A%2F%2F2.bp.blogspot.com%2FHvxIPGZ7jQhL7gbf3u8V9A49LhZgbOoc5GFygugq1ea-dzGaGvImPlxF7JzOqcjIxT03RA%3Ds400&amp;xm=h&amp;xv=sa1.37.01&amp;xuid=utME2ZxMVXtK&amp;description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 263px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 1694px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D19093186%23editor%2Fsrc%3Dsidebar&amp;media=https%3A%2F%2F2.bp.blogspot.com%2FHvxIPGZ7jQhL7gbf3u8V9A49LhZgbOoc5GFygugq1ea-dzGaGvImPlxF7JzOqcjIxT03RA%3Ds400&amp;xm=h&amp;xv=sa1.37.01&amp;xuid=utME2ZxMVXtK&amp;description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 263px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 1694px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=19093186" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=19093186" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><br /><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D19093186%23editor%2Ftarget%3Dpost%3BpostID%3D6064615964297855757%3BonPublishedMenu%3Dposts%3BonClosedMenu%3Dposts%3BpostNum%3D0%3Bsrc%3Dlink&amp;media=https%3A%2F%2F4.bp.blogspot.com%2F-eKNRPpMHwAk%2FVflzuDOIi7I%2FAAAAAAAAIz8%2FdIqKePvFLuw%2Fs320%2F20150915_162250.jpg&amp;xm=h&amp;xv=sa1.37.01&amp;xuid=utME2ZxMVXtK&amp;description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 263px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 126px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.blogger.com%2Fblogger.g%3FblogID%3D19093186%23editor%2Ftarget%3Dpost%3BpostID%3D6064615964297855757%3BonPublishedMenu%3Dposts%3BonClosedMenu%3Dposts%3BpostNum%3D0%3Bsrc%3Dlink&amp;media=https%3A%2F%2F4.bp.blogspot.com%2F-eKNRPpMHwAk%2FVflzuDOIi7I%2FAAAAAAAAIz8%2FdIqKePvFLuw%2Fs320%2F20150915_162250.jpg&amp;xm=h&amp;xv=sa1.37.01&amp;xuid=utME2ZxMVXtK&amp;description=" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; left: 263px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; top: 126px; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a>Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-81828734968023746342015-08-12T09:14:00.002-04:002015-08-12T09:16:15.169-04:00Change Your Thinking One Day at a Time? Right.I walk my dogs every morning from our cozy little spot on the hill down into the town and along the waterfront. We walk along the fishermen's wharf and wave hello to the regulars who congregate there. My trash-collecting habit amuses some of the guys, who laugh at me and shake their heads, and others thank me for my "service". I find all sorts of things from empty cans and bottles to scratch tickets and even occasionally discarded waitstaff shirts from a local eatery or two - I've started a collection of these just to see how many I can score in a year. Thank you, disgruntled staffers discarding their summer jobs and the shirts along with them!<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q9UBOvigOBA/VctD21YdWOI/AAAAAAAAIVc/Uuucu-V7mXk/s1600/DSCF3480.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q9UBOvigOBA/VctD21YdWOI/AAAAAAAAIVc/Uuucu-V7mXk/s320/DSCF3480.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Yoshi hoping for a duck dinner on our morning walk</span></i></div>Since absenting myself from the knitting world, social media, and this blog I've been pretty introspective. I've spent a lot of time in prayer and Bible reading, and a lot of time allowing God to show me who I am and what I am supposed to be doing instead of trying to do everything all on my own. The truth is I have no answers to anything on my own, although I've spent a lot of time trying to prove that I did. I've stopped trying.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BskYzfLAeW4/VctD2kwan7I/AAAAAAAAIVQ/r2N-UlUf1QM/s1600/DSCF3469.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BskYzfLAeW4/VctD2kwan7I/AAAAAAAAIVQ/r2N-UlUf1QM/s320/DSCF3469.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Low tide at the wharf</span></i></div>It's probably not a secret that I have struggled with anxiety and depression. I have not handled stress nearly as well as I might have. And I've had an uneasy relationship with money; once I get into any sort of a role where I begin making it for my own benefit, even in small amounts, I run fast and far in the opposite direction. Success terrifies me. My thought stream tends to be negative. I compare myself to others, which is self-defeating on all levels. I want those things to change.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HoM7lfSJtgs/VctD2Wq8XgI/AAAAAAAAIVg/8n-R94br9zU/s1600/DSCF3467.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HoM7lfSJtgs/VctD2Wq8XgI/AAAAAAAAIVg/8n-R94br9zU/s320/DSCF3467.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Really low tide in the bay</span></i></div>One of the things that's always puzzled me is the ability of some people to be so damned cheerful in the face of...well, frankly, life in general. How do they DO this? How can they just be so bloody happy, as if nothing around them matters, like they cannot SEE the giant horse on the dining room table, and how can they not SEE that huge thing?!? Then add on the peculiar experiences of some of us, and I wonder how anyone even gets out of bed, let alone chirps along joyously, quipping about the beauties of life. Maybe I just started off on the wrong foot. My role models were, I suppose, not exactly what you could call "healthy". Even my father, for all of his awesomeness, struggled with the day to day thing we call living, and often ended up a bit more on the side of pessimism and sarcasm than might be considered ideal. And I have said before I am a slow learner. I think I meant it.<br /><br />Since becoming a Young Living independent distributor and setting some goals related to that, I've become increasingly aware of just how much negative thinking I do, and how much that leads to self doubt and negativity, depressive feelings, stress, anxiety, and the lot. I'd also like to point out here that I have set myself up in an attempt to be successful in a field with something like a 92% "failure" rate - multi-level marketing, network marketing - these are areas where the vast majority fail, and very few succeed. And here I am; pessimistic, negative, freaky little me, thinking this is something I can do.<br /><br />And now we get back to the walk, the one I take every morning with the dogs. As I walk along I think about things. I plan my day. I consider what I am going to do with all the can and lottery ticket money (I've decided to donate it). I think about deeper things - about life and choices and consequences, and about how I need to step back and allow God to change me, from the inside out, one day at a time.<br /><br />The steps and revelations are TINY most days. I try not to even look at "how far I've come" because the snail pace would put me under a quilt (or possibly my crocheted Noro Silk Garden afghan), tucked neatly and tightly around my (wide) eyes, quaking with panic.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />Today as we were walking along I saw a can behind a fence in a public area. It was covered with spider webs and all manner of ick. I wanted it. I will bend over for a nickel, it's true, even if I have to rinse that nickel out and take it to the local bottle center on Monday morning (where they guy now recognizes me, jokes about my "coffee money" and congratulates me on my weekly "earnings"). I love gleaning cans even more now that I have a plan for the money that puts it into better hands than mine. So there was this trapped can, and I wanted it. I thought to myself "<b>I can't </b>get that can. It's behind the fence and it's covered in spider webs. <b>I can't.</b>" Doom and gloom and pessimism and a lost nickel!<br /><br />But what if ...and it hit me heavy, this small, simple thing... what if I <i>chose </i>to look at that can in a <i>completely different way</i>? What if instead of saying "I can't..." I said "That can is behind a fence. I can get it if I want to. <strike>But...</strike><i> (Wait. Red flag! NO BUTS!! Instead say...)</i>&nbsp;That can is covered in spider webs. I CHOOSE not to put my hand through the fence to get that can." And I walked away, leaving the nickel behind.<br /><br />So. Simple.<br /><br />So. Small.<br /><br />So important.<br /><br />Day by day, one day at a time, one small step at a time, my entire way of thinking, of viewing the world, of engaging with others, of being in spaces is changing. And I love it and I am SO grateful!<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tu25R6owAnU/VctD2op-JAI/AAAAAAAAIVY/wCkmjUCh4tY/s1600/DSCF3470.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tu25R6owAnU/VctD2op-JAI/AAAAAAAAIVY/wCkmjUCh4tY/s400/DSCF3470.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-63169001004645259912015-07-30T10:42:00.002-04:002015-07-30T10:54:11.365-04:00Avoiding the Plague While Saving the PlanetThe boys and I go for a walk in our new home town daily. During these walks I have a tendency (this is a mild word for my search and destroy missions...) to pick up trash and bottles and cans from the side of the road. &nbsp;Yes, I am THAT crazy lady in your home town! This drives Mr. W up a tree when he walks with us, so I try not to do it when he's along for the ride unless it's something irresistible, like a case of empty beer cans, or &nbsp;those darned loopy plastic can holders that strangle birds. But the rest of the week you can find me bending and stooping to pick up everything from empty nip bottles (there but for the grace of God go I) to scratched lottery tickets ($25 in dropped winners to date - you can't win if you don't pick 'em up!) and soda cans, to the occasional bit of used drug paraphernalia. I carry hand sanitizer and gloves, and I am not afraid to use them. But having grown up with the "Crying Indian" commercial, I can't very well just leave it all there.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/8Suu84khNGY/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/8Suu84khNGY?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>I just can't! Besides, I "make" about $2.00 a week in bottle returns - what my bottle guy smiles and calls my "coffee money". We move at a good clip in spite of all the bending and stooping, and average 3 miles a day. It's fun, and since running is off the menu, the trash retrieval gives me something to occupy my mind in the face of the reduced pace. Running just had so many benefits...but I digress.<br /><br />I have gone through hand sanitizer like underwear in the last few weeks. It's summer and people are leaving half-full cups and containers of all sorts of things on the waterfront and side streets, and thrown between the rocks of the jetty. I empty gooey and drippy things when possible, avoiding contact with cup rims or straws, and add them to my "trash" bag. Returnable cans are similarly emptied and added to the "nickel" bag. I reach for the hand sanitizer quite often, and today I ran out.<br /><br />Now, nothing beats a good soapy scrub with warm running water. And I am not a fan of heavy chemicals, and certainly am very aware both as a health care professional and as an educated kinda crunch-berry granola-type of the issues surrounding our obsession with <a href="http://www.salon.com/2014/01/08/5_reasons_to_stop_using_antibacterial_soap_partner/">anti-bacterial</a> this and that. <a href="http://www.everydayhealth.com/news/purge-toxic-ingredient-life/">Hand sanitizers</a> often harbor chemicals I'd probably rather not come in contact with - but they seem a better alternative than nothing when soap and water are far away.<br /><br />For example, the label on the bottle of an alcohol free version by my side reads: water, cetrimonium chloride, glycereth-2 cocoate, behentrimonium chloride, acrylates/dimethylaminoethyl methacrylate copolymer, lactic acid, tetrasodium EDTA, fragrance. Kind of makes me wish they'd just left the alcohol in, you know? I could probably fiddle with some of the root words and make some guesses about what the unpronounceable bits are, but really, wouldn't it be nicer if my hand sanitizer just read more like my new <a href="http://www.keeperofthehome.org/2014/05/homemade-foaming-facial-cleanser.html">DIY foaming facial scrub</a> bottle does? (Doc Bronner's liquid soap, glycerine, aloe vera gel, sweet almond oil, essential oils, and water). I think so.<br /><br />So I set out to see if I could find a recipe online that would let me make my own hand sanitizer, preferably featuring <a href="https://www.youngliving.com/en_US">Young Living Thieves</a> essential oil blend, and ideally with some good old rubbing alcohol in it. For this first round I chose the most basic recipe I could find. It contains only three ingredients - rubbing alcohol, aloe vera gel, and essential oils. I had all three on hand, and the limited number of ingredients appealed to me after reading that label up there.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ySwHDw9k27w/VboywAJ5V7I/AAAAAAAAIUM/aOvh0veh3vM/s1600/DSCF3461.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ySwHDw9k27w/VboywAJ5V7I/AAAAAAAAIUM/aOvh0veh3vM/s320/DSCF3461.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I combined 1/4 cup aloe vera gel (I used plain aloe gel that I had obtained for my facial cleanser - this can be difficult to find, but keep trying! Most of the big-name aloe gels contain a host of other ingredients. We are striving for purity here, so less is MORE. If you can't find it at a health food store near you, try Amazon. I like<a href="http://www.amazon.com/LILY-DESERT-Aloe-Vera-Gelly/dp/B00016WXEY/ref=sr_1_22?s=beauty&amp;ie=UTF8&amp;qid=1438265007&amp;sr=1-22&amp;keywords=aloe+vera+gel"> Lily of the Desert</a> brand) with 1/2 cup of rubbing alcohol in a bowl, then added 10 drops of Thieves oil.<br /><br />I whisked the whole thing together and ended up with two (well, one and two thirds, but I didn't scrape the bowl!) bottles of DIY, low-cost, minimal ingredient hand sanitizer. I put it into my two cleaned and recycled empty bottles and put them in the backpack I carry every day on my walks with "the boys".<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9Hb0mHFGJNQ/VboywDD2znI/AAAAAAAAIUU/aeBfbxDbCWc/s1600/DSCF3464.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9Hb0mHFGJNQ/VboywDD2znI/AAAAAAAAIUU/aeBfbxDbCWc/s320/DSCF3464.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I would not call them "gel" sanitizers as they are fairly fluid and I will experiment more in the future with different recipes and different ratios. The gel, really, is purely convenience. I can cup my little palm and use these just the same as the thicker gel versions - and sleep better at night knowing what's in them!<br /><br />In a first trial run at the sink I found the fragrance to be much improved when compared to the chemical stuff. The alcohol evaporates fairly quickly, and while the aloe leaves a faint residue on the skin until it dries, I've had similar residue present with the creepy chemical versions.<br /><br />Try some yourself! Unless you think unpronounceable "irritating, toxic and slightly flammable" ingredients are something you want on your skin - I know I don't want it on mine!<br /><br />Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-11659654943079427862015-07-01T17:54:00.001-04:002015-07-01T17:54:54.706-04:00What Follows The Storms<div class="MsoNormal">I love weather. I track radar for severe storms, and gaze hopefully at the sky looking for signs of funnels or bright flashes of light. Hurricanes make me very happy. This shifts only in winter when severe weather means snow and ice. Give me a good thunderstorm with no injuries or deaths, just some high winds and a little hail and some nice lightning and I am a happy camper. And then there is the calm that follows a whopper of a storm, when the air is fresh and the earth glistens with possibility.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">As an adult I subscribe to the “if you hear it, it can hurt you” rule and am careful not to head out if there's a strong threat. I enjoy my watching from inside spaces once the thunder is audible. Thanks to a radar mishap this morning, we nearly got caught out in this:<o:p></o:p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-42_gTAtSi7w/VZRcQpLkQqI/AAAAAAAAIJY/1uTwMpyasGQ/s1600/radar.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="174" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-42_gTAtSi7w/VZRcQpLkQqI/AAAAAAAAIJY/1uTwMpyasGQ/s320/radar.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Suddenly, mid-walk, the sky turned very dark, and the distant thunder began to roll in, with a few flashes visible in the morning light. As we (dogs and I) raced home at top walking-but-not-quite-running speed, sweating (me) and panting (them) all the way, I was poked by the finger of memory. The tale I am about to tell made me smile all the way home, a bittersweet, wistful sort of smile.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">When I was a little girl I was very much afraid of thunderstorms. I would cry and carry on and generally melt down. It was a horrible experience on the inside, but it seemed to be even more burdensome to my parents and older siblings who, confronted with a hysterical child, did everything in their power to soothe, rationalize or discipline me into some sort of more socially appropriate behavior besides loud wailing and whining. To be fair, I did have a good reason for my terror – when I was about two and a half Captain Kangaroo exploded into blinding electrical light about five feet away from my little face when a bolt of lightning struck something very close to the small one bedroom cottage in which we lived, blowing up the television I’d just been watching (literally - glass everywhere, awful smell and smoke, the works). <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">By the time I was five or six this paranoia had grown quite deep and become a real source of annoyance to the adults and my siblings. They wanted to sit on the porch and play Monopoly or Parcheesi and wait for the storm to pass and a cool breeze to blow. I preferred to sit on edge of a very indoor chair, windows closed, body braced for impact, family gathered close so I knew they were all safe. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">On one very memorable occasion, in an attempt to prove to me that there was nothing to fear from a little thunderstorm, my father trotted off the porch steps and into the front yard. First he checked on our watermelon plant. Then he proceeded to cavort, dance, and generally make a fool of himself (all for my benefit). Each crack of thunder and flash of lightning sent me into further realms of terror, screaming “DADDY! DADDY!!” and shaking from head to foot. “Dan…” said my mother “she’s only getting worse…” <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Then he thrust his arms out to the sides and shrugged in the manner typical of those both challenging God and attempting to prove a point, and said “Look, Melissa. See? There is nothing to be afraid of!” At that precise moment the world around him burst into a chaos of noise and light and he became a blurry silhouette of blue uniform against a blinding explosion of crystalline white and fragmented electricity. He ran for the house, turning to look behind him. There, not more than 40 feet from where he had stood, lay the neighbor’s maple tree in pieces.</div><br /><div class="MsoNormal">Lesson learned. My father, it turns out, wasn’t God after all – he was quite human and fallible, and very capable of being wrong. As for Dad? I think God probably saw him cavorting, sighed heavily, and cast a finger in his direction. “Don’t tempt me, Dan.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Later this morning there was a tornado warning about ten miles south while I was at a new-to-me doctor's office undergoing a minor procedure. Only a few miles away and me tied to a stupid doctor's office, unable to investigate and give chase! We just moved "here" a few weeks ago - or rather "the boys" and I moved.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5G89sIS_T2I/VZRd3JFY35I/AAAAAAAAIJk/srhY2XDVEaY/s1600/DSCF2930.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5G89sIS_T2I/VZRd3JFY35I/AAAAAAAAIJk/srhY2XDVEaY/s320/DSCF2930.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Mr. Wonderful has been more or less living in this neck of the woods - in a rented basement room - since last fall. We finally found a rental that would accept both dogs. We don't want to buy because we are not sure how long we will stay here. We entertain visions of seeing new places. In a bittersweet twist, the loss of both of my parents and maturing of all our kids had freed us up to do things we've always talked about, like live and work in new places. Our house sold - thank heaven! - and since both of these things occurred nearly simultaneously, it seemed like a "perfect storm" of life events. The boys LOVE their new home.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8LLWSY8PqW0/VZRd-5jfqhI/AAAAAAAAIJs/SUfPsPD3mDw/s1600/DSCF2905.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8LLWSY8PqW0/VZRd-5jfqhI/AAAAAAAAIJs/SUfPsPD3mDw/s320/DSCF2905.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">There's beaches and waterfront wharves and breakwaters to wander and explore. We like to go early in the day, as tourists are afoot by 9 am, especially this week with the holiday looming.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">After the often stormy experiences of the past near-decade, it feels nice to just rest and walk and breathe. Last night we took the dogs for a moonlight beach walk at 8:30 at night. We walked for an hour or so along a delicious beach, waves breaking softly on the rocks, twinkling town lights in the distance, and even a brief home-grown fireworks show. I like it here.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LR-ws8wfAhQ/VZRd_F7l4cI/AAAAAAAAIJw/WRIZfoFK6uI/s1600/DSCF2911.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LR-ws8wfAhQ/VZRd_F7l4cI/AAAAAAAAIJw/WRIZfoFK6uI/s320/DSCF2911.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">It feels a little decadent, and a little indulgent, but I believe after all of that craziness since 2007 when I sat down and composed a little book about socks it's exactly what God wants me to have; just a nice, peaceful little interlude, for as long as it lasts. I am grateful, and hope it continues long enough for me to feel balanced again.&nbsp;</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />Job 42:12</div>Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com3